


The Molly House

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Historical, Bottom Jared, Drugs, F/M, King Charles II - Freeform, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prostitution, Supernatural and J2 Big Bang Challenge 2014, Virgin Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 08:02:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Jared was raised a Puritan; innocent and devote. He has lived in the same place for his whole life, and he knows nothing more than farming and church.  Jensen is a royalist, and has returned home with his King.  When Charles II is crowned the court becomes a place of sin and debauchery, and Jensen is part of it.  Granted Jared's family's land as a gift, he travels to the Midlands to see his new acquisition but finds himself enamoured with Jared instead.  Men cannot love men. Sodomy is a crime punishable by death and only under the shadow of the Molly House can Jensen get what he wants. Does Jared want it too?  What happens when lust becomes love, and the two very different men face their own personal challenges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Molly House

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Warning for mild dub-con, because of the character being slightly inebriated his first time, and later references over sexual acts, while the character is under the influence of self-administered drugs and alcohol. Bottom!Jared. As this story is set in England, spellings have not been Americanised.  
>  **A/N** Many thanks to matchboximpala on LJ for her hard work on the artwork, please follow the [link](http://matchboximpala.livejournal.com/161737.html) to the art master post, to give her kudos!

**Rural England – 1658**

The church bells were ringing as Jared walked home from the field. It was a hot oppressive day and he could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, sticking his hair to the skin there. He pushed the large hat that he wore back from his head and wiped at his brow. His plain cambric shirt was soaked through and he wished that he could have taken it off but, as always, modesty prevailed.

The bells did not appear to ring joyfully; instead they tolled slowly, echoing booms of noise that shattered the peace and silence of the afternoon. Jared wondered what could have occurred to make them ring so, and he quickened his pace as the home he shared with his mother came into view.

His mother was in the kitchen, but instead of toiling over the stove preparing supper she was sitting on one of the hard wooden chairs, her head bent and buried in her shaking hands. Jared moved slowly towards her and put a hand on her black clothed shoulder, feeling the bones there, from the slight bend of age and hard work.

“What is it?” He asked. “Is it father?”

“No, son.” She lifted her face to his and he saw the smear of tears down her pale cheeks, the pinch of hurt across her mouth. “The Lord Protector is dead,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “He is gone.”

Jared stared at her for a moment uncomprehending.

“Lord Cromwell?” He said, stupidly, as if it would be someone else.

“Yes,” his mother replied and sobbed louder now. “He has gone to God.”

Jared nodded, trying to understand his mother’s grief. He had been but thirteen summers when Oliver Cromwell had taken the title of Lord Protector, and even younger when they had executed the King. Jared could only just recall the incident. His father had gone to London to see them cleave the King’s head from his body, and had told him the King had shivered not through fear but through the cold of the day. 

Jared’s family were simple farmers and had fought for parliament during the long civil war. Jared had been too young to consider fighting but he had lost his elder brother and two cousins in the conflict. Because he was now, by default, the only son, his mother almost smothered him with love, refusing to let him out of her sight and therefore he had not left his family’s smallholding in middle England since his birth and his life was routine and simple. 

“No doubt his son will take over the reins,” he said, gently, in hope it would calm his mother and assuage her grief. “I hear he is a good man.”

“Where do you hear such things?” His mother wiped at her eyes angrily. “Who have you been talking with?”

“The carrier who brings grain from the city,” Jared sighed, already hot he felt even more suffocated by her cloying. “He often visits London and knows what goes on there.” He shrugged. “I do not see how this affects us so.”

“What if they bring the King back?” His mother grabbed his arm with bony fingers, nails digging into his flesh. “All of Lord Cromwell’s work, all of God’s work will have been in vain.”

Jared nodded but he did not feel the same anguish, or the same concern as his mother did. They had their farm and their home, and they were, for the time, fairly wealthy even though they lived as if they were paupers. His father worked hard, and he worked Jared hard also. Jared was out in the fields before cock crow and only back when the sun was lying low in the sky. He hoed and planted, harvested and fed the livestock. Jared would milk the cows and kill the pigs, he would prepare the meat for market and grind down the corn to make bread. He was nearly always tired and sometimes he would long for something different, a means of escape.

“I am sure everything will be fine, mother,” he said, squeezing her shoulder and kneeling low so that he could wipe his finger across her damp eyes, a poor attempt at comfort.

“I pray that you are right son.” His mother wiped her eyes and put her hand on his damp hair, pushing a sweaty lock of chestnut behind protruding ears. “I pray that you are right.”

**29th May – London – 1660**

 

Lord Jensen Ackles had doubted that he would ever set foot on English soil again. After the Battle of Worcester in 1651 he had fled the country and joined his rightful King in exile. It had been painful but necessary, and he had done it through love and loyalty. He had been but a boy when he had joined the Royalist army, but he had emerged from that battle as a man. The King had thanked him for his allegiance and offered him refuge overseas. The two men had become firm friends, the King only a few years older than Jensen, and still very much a boy in the eyes of his elders. 

They had settled in France where Anne – the Queen and regent – had taken them in on behalf of her son, Louis XIV. The French court had been sympathetic to the English refugees and had welcomed them with open arms. Jensen was given a richly furnished apartment and servants for his personal use. It was something he could only have dreamed of, and he found himself enjoying his enforced exile.

 

Jensen’s family had lost their home during the war; it had been taken by parliament and burned to the ground. His mother had been killed and his father taken prisoner and presumed dead. In fact, his family had been decimated by the war no one had really wanted. Jensen kept his title but it was in name only, and meant very little, but he clung to it desperately wanting to keep something of his lost family even if it was just a name.

He found himself very popular at court where he was described as _a great beauty_ something, as a man, he found both embarrassing and amusing. He was tall for his age and fair. He wore his own hair long, curling down his back in thick gold waves. He had bright jade eyes, and had excellent skin having avoided catching both the pox and the plague as a child. He knew that women found him pleasing and he knew he could have found himself a bride easily even without his wealth, but he was young and wild and had no real desire to settle so easily.

Like his King before him, he had left a trail of broken hearts; spurned women and innocent maids weeping in his wake. He did not care that he was making a reputation for himself nor did it concern him. He loved the chase more than he loved the capture, and to deflower a virgin was something of a challenge and one he could easily rise too (in every way that mattered.)

Deep down though he had a secret yearning and it was one he could not confess to, even to his King. It was his deepest secret and his ultimate sin, and it burned in him like fire.

As much as Lord Ackles admired the female of the species he admired the male form more. It was something he dared not act upon, sodomy was a crime punishable by death and he had no desire to die. Therefore, he drove temptation from his mind and continued to welcome women into his bed wondering, deep down, if he would ever know the touch of a man.

Now, two years after the death of the traitor Cromwell, England had welcomed home its King, and all those who went into exile in his name. Jensen rode through the streets of London with his head held high, ears buzzing with the roar of the crowd. He was home again, and he was joyful for it but he could not help but wonder what this new and unexpected turn of events might bring. Deep down, he held the hope that in this new court, he might finally be able to give in to his yearnings.

**Rural England – June 1660**

 

It was cool in the church and dark, the windows were small and the glass in them plain. The altar was hewn out of simple grey stone, and the pews made of solid oak. Jared knelt with his head bowed, and eyes shadowed beneath the crown of his hat. His knees ached, his thighs were cramped, and he felt sure that no one was listening to their prayers anymore.

He glanced at his mother and she looked impossibly thinner and terribly pale. His father had died only months ago, and his loss had weighed heavily on the family. This had not been aided by the news from London that the King had been asked to return, and had been crowned at Westminster Abbey only one month ago. The carrier from London had told Jared that Cromwell’s body had been dug up from its grave and that his head had been removed and placed on a spike at Traitor’s Gate. _’All those who had fought for Parliament were in the same danger,’_ the carrier had intoned, and it seemed a mercy that death had come for his father before the King did.

His mother lived in constant fear as she sat beside the window and watched the road waiting for the inevitable. Jared had to keep working, it was all he could do, and it was all he had. This was his home for good or for bad, and he did not want to lose it. 

So now they prayed. They prayed with the rest of their town, a town that had supported Cromwell and had lived under his protector-ship, a town that had obeyed without question the laws of the land. They had not celebrated Christmas or Easter, they had not danced around the Maypole at the advent of spring, they had not eaten fine foods or drunk wine. Jared had two shirts, one for the fields and one for the Sabbath; he had a thick black coat that he wore to church, and two pairs of breeches that were made out of heavy wool. He owned but one pair of boots and two hats, one weaved out of straw that he wore while harvesting and one that he wore for church. He had never taken a sip of mead in his life nor had he kissed a maiden or felt a soft body against his own. He had been waiting for his father to make a good match for him but now that was not going to happen, and he wondered if he would ever marry or even if he would make old bones.

**London – August 1660**

 

Jensen could not help but wonder why the King would summon him to court so early in the day. He tumbled out of bed leaving the woman he had bedded still sleeping, the curve of her buttocks rising from his silk bed sheets, soft and enticing. His servant drew him a bath and he washed quickly, eager to be on his way.

The King was still in his own chambers when Jensen arrived; he lounged languidly on satin pillows with his spaniels at his feet. Away from the court he wore a silk robe and his own short hair, his wig thrown casually upon the bed.

“Lord Ackles,” he beamed. “I do hope I did not disturb you too much. I heard you took the very sweet Lady Danneel home with you yesterday evening.”

“That may be true your majesty.” Jensen swept forward in an elegant bow. “But your summons is far more important to me.”

The King laughed then, head back, the dogs barking suddenly in a cacophony of noise.

“I am indebted to you, Lord Ackles. You fought alongside me when I needed you the most, and you came into exile with me proving that you were a loyal and trusted friend.”

“It was my duty, your highness.” Jensen smiled then. “And a pleasure.”

“Indeed.” The King’s expression became serious. “But do not think, I am not grateful.”

“I am honoured by your gratitude.” Jensen felt a flood of warmth, and companionship. “I am happy that we are both home safe.”

“You are a good friend, Lord Ackles and now I have my throne back, I wish to honour my friends.” He waved an arm expansively. “I have given many gifts, and now it is your turn to receive one.”

“Your highness . . . .”

“I am aware that many of my countrymen fought with _the traitor_ , and I cannot forgive them so easily. I have a need to punish them, but I am merciful enough not to put them to the sword.” He paused and stared at Jensen for a moment, considering. “There is a large amount of land in the heartland of our beloved country. Middle England was not loyal to me and, even now, there are families who enjoy their wealth, wealth gained at my father’s expense.” His eyes were suddenly cloudy, and sad.  
“Now it is time for me to gain those lands back for the crown.” He smiled. “I am making you a gift of land. It belonged to a staunch parliamentarian but he died recently leaving only a wife and son. The house is not fit for a Lord, but the land is fertile and rich and there are many acres. You may wish to knock down the existing house and build something of your own.” He smiled again. “Tis your choice.”

“What of the wife and son?” Jensen felt a tingle of unease mixed with the triumph of having his own land again. True, he should feel no sympathy for Cromwell’s supporters; they had murdered his family and burned down his home, but he did not feel easy turning out some innocent.

“They will have to find somewhere else to live,” the King’s voice was cold. “They are lucky to survive, perchance their next home would be the Tower.”

Jensen bowed again. His mouth was dry and he did not know what to feel. He was unsure if he should feel joy or regret but the King had given him this gift and he would have to accept it.

****

By horse it took but a day and a half. Jensen spent a night in a coaching inn where he dined on fine food, drank thick brown ale and enamoured himself of the innkeeper’s virginal daughter. 

As he lay awake, girl tucked into the crook of his arm, her delicate hand resting gently on his chest, he wondered why he was doing this. Sex had become naught but a quest for pleasure, and it often left him feeling hollow. He stared at the girl with her tumbled blonde curls and soft pink mouth. Hell, he did not even know her name and yet he had pursued her with the same enthusiasm that a hound pursues a fox or deer. Granted she was attractive, but it was the quest to rid her of her virginity that had driven him, and he had gotten intense gratification from her deflowering. He knew that he had a reputation second only to the King, but he also knew women wanted and desired him. Soon the King would ask him why he did not seek a wife, and now that he would have this _home_ in the country, he would have little or no excuse for not wedding. Perhaps the Lady Danneel would be willing. He knew she liked money and jewels and, now, he was in a position to give her both.

The next day he set off for the Midlands with renewed vigour. The sun glared bright in the cloudless sky and he shed both his jacket and waistcoat, his shirt open to the waist, heat soothing on his skin.

By noon he was on the edge of what was now _HIS_ land. It was a beautiful place, he noted, thick golden corn waving in the warm breeze, overhanging trees heavy with green leaves. There were cows in one green field and sheep in another and, as he rode closer, chickens pecked at the feet of his horse.

He rounded the bend and saw the house; it was big for a farmhouse and made out of plain grey brick. It had small windows and the door was painted black. There were no flowers in the small, scrubby garden and a mangy ginger cat sat on the rush mat licking its paws. It looked up as Jensen dismounted, green eyes taking him in with casual disinterest.

As Jensen’s boots hit the stone path the door of the house opened and a man stepped into the sunlight. For a moment Jensen was struck dumb, his mouth suddenly dry with more than just dust from his travels.

The man who stood before him could only be described as beautiful; he was tall, taller than any man Jensen had ever seen. He had to duck as he came through the door and Jensen could not help but notice how broad his shoulders were.

The man was young, little more than twenty summers. His face was long, foxy hazel eyes slanted upwards against high-boned cheeks and his mouth invited sin. Long chestnut hair curled upon the collar of his plain cambric shirt and flopped over his wide brow. He looked across at Jensen and his expression was unreadable, big hands coming up to brush across his forehead and coming away damp with sweat.

“Are you Lord Ackles?” His voice was flat, nasal, a dialect that Jensen was not familiar with. “The King’s guards told us to expect you.” He gestured with his hand. “Do you want to come in? My mother has prepared a meal for you.”

“Yes,” Jensen could barely get the words out. He had never seen anyone quite as fine-looking as this man, even plainly dressed as he was, he was more magnificent than anyone Jensen had ever seen at court. “Thank you.”

The man inclined his head slightly and it was hard to know what he was thinking, eyes half hidden by his floppy hair. His skin was tanned, hands brown and callused from years of outdoor work, but his face was pale, eyes shadowed, and his demeanour that of a man who had given up on life.

Jensen stepped out of the hot sun into the cool of the house which was even larger inside, with a fair sized living space and a huge kitchen. A woman was bent over a cooking pot, stirring whatever was inside with an almost angry force. She wore a black dress with a white collar and cuffs, her head almost completely covered by a cotton bonnet. She glanced up as Jensen entered and he was shocked to see how thin she was, her face drawn, shoulder bones poking through the dress that she wore.

“My name is Jared,” the man spoke from behind him, voice low. “This is my mother. I am sorry we have not left this dwelling yet, but my mother has been ill and she was unable to travel.” His Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. “As soon as you have eaten we will be on our way.”

Jensen’s heart was still stuttering and his breeches felt tight against his half hard cock. He felt odd, a mixture of shame and driving lust throbbing through his body; lust for the stranger before him, shame that he was driving both him and his elderly mother from their home.

“You do not have to hurry away on my account,” he urged. “I have come to see just what land there is here. As you know it was a gift from the King, and I wanted . . . ,” his voice trailed off. “I just wanted to see it.”

“There are over ten acres of land,” Jared said. He seemed awkward, half standing, and half bowed. “And we have livestock too.” He shifted. “Forgive me, Lord Ackles, _you_ have livestock,” he laughed then, wry and humourless. “Although I doubt that you will have any use for it.”

Jensen wanted to apologise but he felt angry somehow, and confused. He remembered the virgin he had taken the night before, how soft she was against him and he shook his head, his thoughts turning to Jared and how he might feel against his fingers, how his body would be hard and not soft, and how his kisses would be angry and not compliant.

Jared was a puritan from a puritan family; his plain dress told Jensen as much as did his manner. Jared had probably never been to London, let alone court and he certainly would not have seen much of the war. Jensen tried to imagine what it would be like not to dance or to celebrate days like Christmas. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to wear scratchy plain clothing, to get up early in the morn, and to go to bed before the moon was up.

“I have not decided what I am going to do with this land yet.” Jensen found himself wanting to justify, to placate.

Jared just inclined his head again and gestured that Jensen should sit. Jensen took a seat at the thick oak table. There were shiny apples in a bowl and a large jug of water in the centre. It was modest, simple and he could not help but compare it with the finery at court; the gold plates that he ate from, the bottles of wine that were strong and intoxicating, and the maids who served at the tables, breasts spilling from their gowns, white flesh on display. 

Jared sat opposite him with his head bowed and he was yet to meet Jensen’s eyes. Jensen still thought him beautiful but he was sure that Jared’s thoughts were of a different nature.

****

_Jared had been milking when the soldiers arrived, hearing the clattering of hooves in the yard he had gone to investigate only to find his mother on her knees and two of the King’s guards standing in his doorway._

_Their missive had been simple; Jared’s father had been a supporter of the traitor Cromwell. The King was merciful and would not sentence them to death, nor would he take them to the tower. Instead, the guards were here to claim the house and lands in the name of Charles II of England. Jared and his mother would have to leave this place as soon as they were able. The new owner of the land would come to take it as his own and it would then belong to the crown._

_Jared’s mother had swooned while Jared had begged, pleaded for some sort of mercy but the guards stood firm. As far as they were concerned the family had been shown mercy, they should be thanking God and the King that they were not in the tower, and they should praise the lord that they were left alive._

_It had been hard news to take. His mother had been beside herself, and Jared had been too stunned to really react. He had always felt claustrophobic here, he had felt trapped but he had not wanted to lose his home like this._

_His mother insisted they spend time at church praying but their prayers were not answered. Jared sent letters through the carrier begging what was left of his family for sanctuary. There was only his younger sister who had married and was living in the Shires, and his mother’s brother a taciturn physician who they had not seen for over a decade, so Jared was not hopeful of help. While waiting for a reply he still kept up his chores, milking cows that he knew he would never see again, ploughing the long furrow ready for seeds he would not plant and trimming the apple trees ready for fruit he could not eat._

_When his mother fell sick he was almost beside himself. He was in danger of losing his home and what was left of his close family, and he could not bear it. They had never been an affectionate family but they had been loyal to each other and Jared had worked hard to win his parent’s approval. Now he sat beside his mother’s bedside and reassured her that they would be safe, that they would find a home and that they would not end up on the streets or in the gin houses. He knew he was making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep, but he kept talking anyway because he did not know what else he could do._

Now he sat at the familiar kitchen table opposite the man who was going to take their lives away. He still had no reply from either his sister or his uncle and if they had to leave their home they had nowhere to go. He had not told his mother this, and he did not know how he could tell her, nor did he know what they were going to do.

He looked up to see the Lord watching him. Jared had never seen such vanity in another man before, even though he was only in his riding clothes the man was colourfully dressed. He wore a red velvet riding coat and tight satin breeches. His boots were long and highly polished and there were ruffs of lace at his throat. Rings adorned each delicate finger and he wore his own hair long and obviously curled. Jared had been brought up to dress plainly and to believe that to be so ornamented was a sin. He could not believe that a man would want to dress so, but it was clear that he was wrong.

His mother served homemade soup silently, eyes lowered. She moved slowly, painfully, still weak from her illness. The Lord watched her with an unreadable expression on his face but he thanked her for the soup and ate it gratefully pouring water from the jug and dipping homemade bread into the warm liquid. She looked so weak afterwards that Jared insisted she take to her bed. He did not know what the Lord’s intentions were but he hoped that he would have enough compassion not to throw a sick woman out of the only home she knew.

****

Jensen leaned back in the old chair and clasped his hands behind his head; it was growing late and usually he would be at court eating and drinking more than his fill, looking for concubines, indulging in depravity. Now he sat in the darkening room, alone with the young man who made his mouth dry and his heart beat faster. He had not yet indulged, nor had he ever given into his sin but now he was tempted more than ever, his hands itching to touch, his mind telling him that it would be bad, that it would be wrong.

“My mother is sick,” Jared spoke suddenly, unexpectedly. “We have nowhere to go,” he added, slanting fox-like eyes flickered up quickly to meet his. “I can only ask for your mercy.”

Jensen opened his mouth to speak and then, as if by some divine intervention, an idea came to him. It was an idea that had its roots in corruption, it was an idea that was illegal and immoral both.

“As I told you earlier,” he was amazed his voice was so steady; his traitorous cock had awoken again and pushed insistently against his breeches. “I have no plans for the house or the land at present,” he paused, swallowing down his guilt as if it were wine. “It would not trouble me if your mother was to stay here for a while, but I would expect something in return.”

“You would let us stay?” Jared’s pale face was transformed, hopeful and Jensen’s stomach churned a little, disgusted, but he stood firm.

“Your mother can stay,” he said, slowly, carefully. “And I will send one of my most trusted maidservants here to care for her.” He watched Jared’s face for some reaction.

“I can care for her, my Lord.” Jared’s eyes flickered and Jensen noticed how unusual they were, the colour appearing to change from blue to grey, to hazel, pupils wide. “I have done so these past weeks.”

“I am sure you can, Jared but I have other plans for you,” he spoke quickly and with as much authority as he could muster. All at once he felt like a green young boy again nothing like the confident man of six and twenty that he had become.

“I don’t understand.” The young man’s face paled further under the deep flush of his cheeks. “You would let my mother stay, and yet you would make me leave.”

“Not _make_ you . . . call it an exchange.”

“I still do not understand.” Jared’s hands were shaking as he raised them to brush away the hair from his face. “What do you want from me?”

“It must be lonely for you here in this place.” Jensen wanted to make it sound as if he might be doing Jared a favour. “All alone here with just your mother for company. I have seen the results of your hard work, and I feel as if you perhaps deserve to spread your wings a little.” He risked a smile, “I have friends at court, but I would like a new companion, someone who I can spend some time with, someone who I can talk to.” He glanced at Jared trying to read his reaction. “If I allow your mother to stay here in her home I would like you to come to London with me, perchance to court.”

“You want me to come to court?” Jared’s eyes grew wide. “You want me to go to a place my father once described as _a bed of iniquity and sin_.”

“Yes,” Jensen did not attempt to deny it. “I want you to come with me.”

Jared was silent for the longest of times then he tipped up his chin and met Jensen’s eyes, mouth tight, expression an odd mixture of defiance and resignation.

“And you will allow my mother to stay here?” He asked, finally and Jensen knew he had won.

“You have my word.”

“Then I will come with you,” Jared answered and swallowed again, and Jensen saw fear in his eyes.

“You will be safe under my protection, Jared,” Jensen added and he hoped, deep down, that he was not lying.

****

Jared’s mother watched him closely as he packed his meagre belongings. Her eyes were sharp and her mouth pursed.

“I do not trust this man,” she said, softly. “Why would a Royalist lord want to take you to court?”

“I do not know, mother.” He stood tall for a moment spine cracking. “But I feel we should be thanking him for his mercy and not trying to question his motives.”

“His mercy?” she shook her head. “The man who has _stolen_ your father’s land from under him, who has taken your inheritance away . . . we should thank this man?”

Jared swallowed; he would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned, or if he said he wasn’t scared. He had no comprehension as to why Lord Ackles had asked him to be his companion. It made little sense to him, but he could not bring himself to look a gift horse in the mouth. This way they could keep their home for a little while at least, and his mother would be safe and well.

“Are you ready?” 

Lord Ackles appeared behind him and he felt himself tensing. Even at this early hour the man was expensively dressed and looking every inch the aristocrat. Jared felt like an ugly black crow beside him and he rubbed his face staring down at his thick black coat and plain breeches.

“Yes, my Lord.” He lowered his head and heard Jensen make a clucking noise with his tongue.

“You should call me Jensen,” he said, gently. “If we are to be friends.”

Jared’s face flushed a little for he had doubts that he and the Lord could ever be friends. There was a gulf between them that went deeper than just money and religion. Lord Ackles was clearly a well-travelled, and well-educated man, while Jared had not even gone beyond his small town and had only been to church school. He could only just write his name and could not read anything beyond the price of cloth or the weight of grain. He suddenly felt very young and very scared, and his tongue stuck dryly to the roof of his mouth, words beyond him.

“I rode here but I have made arrangements for the coach to pick us up from town.” Jensen brushed an imaginary thread from his fine velvet coat. “I intend to stop in the city before we make our way to my apartments at court.” His green eyes swept the length of Jared’s body and Jared’s stomach clenched, his skin suddenly feeling too tight for his bones. He had never been looked at in such a way before and it made him uneasy, made his blood run warm around his body.

“I have never ridden in a coach before,” he said, finally, searching for something to say. “I usually walk to town.”

“You would have a long walk to London,” Jensen laughed.

Jared tried to smile but his mouth shook and he abandoned the attempt staring at his callused hands instead. He was aware of Jensen’s proximity, he could smell the pomade he used for his hair, and the slight tang of sweat that was almost hidden by cologne. Jensen’s hand brushed over his shoulder and he almost leapt out of his skin, an apologetic laugh spilling from his lips, humourless, and fearful.

“You do not need to be so nervous, Jared,” Jensen’s voice was low and Jared turned to see that he was closer still, green eyes fixed on Jared’s face, looking him up and down, his gaze moving from eyes to mouth and back again. “We will get along just fine.”

“I still don’t understand what you want of me,” the words burst out of Jared’s mouth unchecked. “Why would you want to take me to court?”

Jensen did not answer for the longest of times; his expression was unreadable but his hand remained fixed on Jared’s shoulder, the fingers moving restlessly as if he couldn’t help himself. Jared felt a tingle run down his neck and spine; it was an odd sensation but not unpleasant. They stayed like that for the longest of moments and then Jensen removed his hand and with it the spell was broken.

“I want to do something for you and your mother,” Jensen spoke low so that his voice barely reached Jared’s ear. “You were too young to fight in the first civil war and you have only been following your father’s teachings. There is a whole world beyond this farm and it is time you explored it for yourself.”

“My mother says that the court is full of sinners,” Jared felt instantly foolish as soon as the words had left his lips.

“There are sinners everywhere.” Jensen smiled then. “So there are bound to be some at court but the King is a good man, he has been in exile a long time and he was sick for his home - no one can blame him for wanting to enjoy it now he is here.”

Jared nodded. He could not imagine what the King even looked like; he had seen a painting of the Lord Protector once and he had been warty and unpleasant. Jared’s own father had worn his hair short and cropped to his head and had always dressed in black and grey. All the men in town were clothed in the same way, all of the women in black dresses and white bonnets that hid their face and covered their hair. Jared glanced at Jensen, at the colour of his clothing, and the bright lustre of his hair. He wondered what it would be liked to be dressed thus, wondered what it would be like to walk through a town without his hat, or to put a heavy ring on his finger. He shivered then, an odd feeling overtaking him, excitement moving slowly through his veins.

“I cannot take you to court dressed like that.” It appeared as if Jensen could read his thoughts. “That is why we must stop in the city first. We will have some clothes made for you.” His eyes narrowed. “I would like to see what you look like in something other than black.”

Jared licked his lips. He had never worn anything other than this black jacket, the scratchy breeches, and his work boots. He could not imagine himself in fine clothing nor could he imagine what his mother would think if she knew what Lord Ackles was suggesting.

“Thank you,” he said, hoping it was the right response. “You have been more than generous.”

Jensen cocked his head on one side then and Jared’s mouth went dry at the smirk on his face.

“I am sure we will think of a way for you to repay me,” he replied.

In the coach Jared was silent.

He sat with his head against the grimy window watching the passing scenery. Jensen tried to imagine what it must be like to see these things for the first time. What it would be like to see the grey water of the Thames winding through the countryside, to see the ducks that dipped for fish, and the long-legged heron watching wisely from his nest. Jared’s eyes were wide with it all, mouth slightly agape. Their fellow travellers ignored his wonder; the minster in his high collar continued to read his bible, while the modestly dressed goodwife worked diligently on her embroidery. 

Jensen knew he would have to explain why he had brought Jared to court. The King would wonder why he had not taken residence in the house he had been given, wonder why he was not designing his new home. Jensen already had his explanations ready. He would tell his majesty that he was looking to take a wife and, perchance, he would make this true. He wanted Jared and he would have him but he did not want to put either of them at risk. Marriage to a good woman would be an excellent cover for him. Many men married for status and fucked for leisure and Jensen had no shame becoming one of those men. The Lady Danneel Harris was already enamoured with him, and she knew his character well enough to turn a blind eye. Perchance she may even give him an heir and he would be happy with that.

He would tell Charles that Jared was an old friend, he hated lying to the King but he knew that Charles would not take kindly to being duped and would not welcome a parliamentarian puritan into his court. 

Then, in the safety of his own apartments Jensen would introduce Jared into the ways of physical love. He would teach him how to pleasure both women, and more importantly, men. Perhaps, he would take him to a Molly House so that they could both indulge.

The coach stopped so that they could embark on the outskirts of the city. Jensen booked them rooms in one of the many inns that lined the crowded streets. He observed Jared keenly as they climbed down the steps and alighted. It was midday and the streets were bustling with life, there were women selling fruit, lurid coloured oranges and fat purple plums. Their white skinned breasts were overflowing their tight bodices, their hair worn loose around their shoulders. Men in bright coloured coats and breeches bought ribbons from another stall while small children dashed beneath their legs. The streets were filled with the sounds of dogs running free and the loud shouts of the traders. It was chaos and Jensen loved it, but Jared was almost frozen in one spot, his eyes darting here and there as if he did not know where to look next.

“I did not expect it to be like this,” he whispered, low, almost inaudible. “There are so many people.” He glanced quickly at a woman who was almost half naked, her breast bare as she fed her child. Jensen watched his cheeks flare red and his lashes flicker closed and he wondered what Jared was feeling, wondered if his breeches grew tight at the sight of naked flesh.

“It is always like this in the city.” Jensen put a hand on the small of his back. His shirt was damp with sweat now, rivulets of it trickling down his neck and sticking his hair to his forehead. Jensen could smell it, strong and musky and, to his shame, longed to put his mouth on Jared’s body, and lick it off. “You will get used to it.”

Jared’s looks of panic made Jensen hold him more firmly, guiding him through the crowd and towards the home of his tailor. Jared kept his eyes firmly forward fixed on nothing. He was panting, little tremors of fear shaking his body. Jensen felt a tiny stab of guilt, wondering if he would be able to transform this trembling virgin into someone more sensual, someone more confident. It would be a hard task but Jensen was prepared to do it. He had fallen quite hard for this innocent boy in such a short time and he wanted nothing more than to have him.

His usual tailor was tucked away in a tiny shop on Cheapside; the whole place smelled of fresh cotton, materials of all sorts thrown over chairs or on the large table in the centre. The man, small and of French origin, fussed around Jared shaking his head and tut-tutting loudly.

“This is difficult.” He pulled Jared’s arm out and eyed it with some scrutiny. “Your new companion is rather large,” he huffed and Jensen watched as Jared’s cheeks coloured pink again. “I will have to use much more material than I am used to.”

“Cost is no object.” Jensen patted his pocket to make his point clear. “I need him suitably dressed so that I can present him at court.” He shrugged. “I leave town in two days but if you cannot do it. . . .”

The tailor flung up his arms and let out a stream of French.

“I can do it, Lord Ackles! Of course I can do it.” He looked hassled. “What colours are you thinking?”

Jensen eyed Jared again; the younger man was still flushed, his hair untidy around his face, shirt sticky with sweat and grubby from their journey. He imagined Jared in blues and greens, in soft chestnut brown and bright vibrant reds. Jared looked awkward, his head down, hands clasped over his flat stomach. He was so pure, so different to anyone – man or woman – that Jensen had ever met.

Finally, the tailor had finished his measurements and Jensen told him they would be back to collect the finished clothing in two days’ time. Until then they would stay at the inn Jensen had reserved for them and he would show Jared a little more of London.

The inn was small but clean; there was a dining area and a small alcove where drinks were served. Their rooms were at the top of the stairs; again they were small but tidy and the bed sheets looked freshly washed. Jared looked exhausted and Jensen left him in his own room to sleep off the excitement of the day. Once Jared was settled Jensen made himself at home on a comfy chair in the alcove and ordered the finest wine he could find. It had been an interesting day and one, he hoped, of many. Tomorrow he would begin Jared’s education and he felt a tingle of anticipation and a throb of warmth that had nothing to do with the wine.

***

Jared woke and for a moment he could not remember where he was. The room smelt unfamiliar and he lay for a while listening futilely for the scratching of the chickens, and the crowing of the rooster. Outside it was already light. An odd grey light filtered beneath heavy red drapes. He rubbed his eyes and rolled onto his side. His head ached a little and his legs felt cramped still from the long journey. Yesterday he had seen things that he could only have imagined, the long winding river, the hectic bustle of people in the streets. He recalled the women with their breasts on public display, the bright colours and constant noise. He hadn’t known what to think, torn as he was between his strict upbringing and Jensen’s obvious enthusiasm for this life.

He knew what his mother would think; she would tell him that this was a bed of iniquity and sin, that London was the city of Satan, under the thrall of a monarch who was the devil himself. Jared had heard how much the city had changed in the short time that Charles had been back on the throne, he had heard that the theatres would be open again soon and that there were performances of Shakespeare being held at court. Plain dress and modest behaviour had given way to bright colours and debauchery and, yesterday, Jared had seen it with his own eyes.

What he had not been prepared for was his body’s reaction to what he had seen. Jared had not been prepared for the sudden tightness in his breeches, or the heat that thrummed through his body, and the odd sensations that gripped him making him feel breathless and confused. Then there was Lord Ackles; the older man was not what Jared had expected, he appeared kind, caring, and his concern for Jared palpable and yet there was no reason for him to be so. He did not owe Jared’s family a debt and he could have thrown them out of their home and yet he did not. Jared didn’t know what to make of this, it both frightened and fascinated him and he could not help but wonder what lay in store for him.

Lord Ackles took him to breakfast. Jared had never seen such an abundance of food. At home they had eaten modestly and frugally, no meat on the Sabbath and only bread and cheese to break their fast. His mother would only cook what they needed and there was never any waste. Here in the inn there was a whole table groaning with breakfast fare, bacon and sausage, huge loaves of bread, boiled eggs and whole fish. There were jugs of wine and piles of fruit, exotic looking things that Jared had never seen before but Jensen told him were called figs. He sat with his bowl in his hands unable to make any decision and Jensen watched him amused, his green eyes twinkling with something that looked like mischief.

Finally, he took a little of everything and Jensen insisted he also take a tumbler of wine. It was thick and warming, burning his throat and his gut, the flush moving through his skin and making his face flame. He felt light headed and odd, a smile curving his mouth for the first time in what seemed like decades. Lord Ackles was still staring at him, eyes dark, and Jared found himself laughing at nothing, a wildness running in his blood, and a need to get out of the inn and into the fresh morning air.

The city was bustling with life and energy; a bright yellow sun had pushed its way through the grey murk of the sky and there were so many different scents and smells that they made his nostrils twitch. He still felt out of place, a black bird among peacocks, the men adorned in colours that were as gaudy and as bright as anything the women wore.

Girls of his own age with white skin and wild hair, approached him without modesty or concern, offering him ribbons and flowers, while running fingers down his arm and up through his hair, their red smeared mouths open in invitation.

He felt too big for his own skin and his clothes felt heavy on his back. He could smell his own sweat, tangy and strong, and feel dampness within the confines of his breeches, his manhood stiffening, half hard and pleasure full; an ache he was unfamiliar with. He had never even touched himself let alone another human being. Of course he had kissed his mother respectfully on the cheek or helped one of the church elders with a hand on her back or elbow, but that was all. He had not yet found a girl he would want for a wife, and his father had died before a marriage could be arranged.

Jensen moved closer to him as if he could sense his unease. 

“There is nothing to be concerned about,” he said, softly, amusement still clear in his tone. “This is common behaviour both in the city and at court.” He put his hand on Jared’s back again, low down on his spine, fingers spreading so that they almost rested on the cleft of his arse. He shuddered and Jensen’s fingers pressed harder, hurting a little although the sting was more of pleasure than of pain. Discomfort warred with embarrassment and he lowered his head hiding beneath the sweaty fringe of his hair. Beside him one of the women laughed loud and hearty before thrusting a wilting red flower into his hand.

“Give this to ya’ lady luv, m’lord,” her accent was harsh, unlike his own. “She might give ya’ somfin’ in return.”

Jared nodded his thanks and fumbled in his pocket for coins; his mother had given him money for the journey but Jensen had insisted on paying for everything. Already that had made him feel uneasy and unsure but Jensen would heed no argument, and so, therefore, he gave none.

The woman took the coin he offered and bit into it with rotting teeth before she winked at him and lifted her skirt leering lewdly at him. He swallowed again and stepped back straight into Jensen’s questing fingers, feeling them stab once more into his flesh.

“Come on.” Jensen gave him a gentle shove. “We should walk along the river.”

Jared nodded and followed him like an obedient dog; his body was relaxing a little now, all the tight lines and hardness smoothing from his skin. He took big gulps of air and closed his eyes for a moment just waiting for his head to stop spinning.

“You will get used to it,” Jensen’s voice was low and comforting. “Soon you will fit in as if you have lived here all your life.”

“I somehow doubt that.” Jared smiled but he knew the smile was wan. “I do not think I will ever fit in here.”

“We were all young and green once,” Jensen said. “When I joined the King’s army I was afraid nearly every single day. I had to learn to fight, to shoot a gun, even how to charge when atop of a horse. I did not think I would ever fit in.” He touched Jared’s arm. “But I did.”

“Why have you brought me here?” Jared still felt light-headed from the breakfast wine, and the sights and endless sensations. “I do not understand.”

“I told you the truth.” Jensen stopped for a moment and stared out into the rough flowing water. Jared followed his gaze breathing in and out heavily, watching as the river bounced over jagged stones and smooth rocks, the eternal surge of the current endlessly travelling. “I wish to have a companion at court. One day, I will wed and my bachelor days will be over, until then I need a _brother-in-arms_. I need someone who may share my carousing.”

“Do I not seem an odd choice?” Jared spoke his words into the air still staring at the river, eyes narrowed.

“Perchance I am tired of my other companions, those who are already jaded with court life, and want to fight again.” He laughed before continuing. “I want someone who does not know everyone’s business. I want someone who will not constantly long for conflict. You are that person.”

Jared turned then and he found himself staring at Jensen intently, taking in the green of his eyes, the slope of his nose, and the soft pink curve of his mouth. Jensen looked back and for a moment they stood almost nose to nose, breathing in each other’s air.

“Come.” Jensen broke the strange spell. “We will walk for a while, and get ourselves an appetite for luncheon.” 

He removed his hand from Jared’s arm and they began to walk, long determined strides, along the riverbank and away from the city that had so confused him.

Jensen sat amongst the clutter in the tailor’s small shop; there were swathes of cloth balanced precariously above his head, and numerous buttons in a pile on the table in front of him. It had been nearly an hour since the tailor had taken Jared into his _fitting closet_ to try on the new clothes he had been working on so diligently and Jensen was getting anxious and unable to keep still much longer.

It had been a strange two days. They had spent nearly every daylight hour in each other’s company and he still knew very little about Jared and what made him tick. Jared was obviously shy and inexperienced. He had not travelled beyond his own boundaries and his knowledge of the outside world was scant at best. He was clearly an innocent in the act of physical affection too. Any touch, any innocent brush against him and he was suddenly the colour of beet, stumbling and stammering, unable to raise his eyes, his smile small and embarrassed. Jensen also suspected that he could not read nor write very well and that he had not received more than the most basic of schooling. He was, as most puritans were, very religious and had been brought up to be both modest and plain. This only served to make him more attractive in Jensen’s eyes. Not only more attractive but much more of a challenge.

“Lord Ackles . . . .” The little tailor appeared out of nowhere. He looked confident, smug almost, waving his hands around expansively. “We are ready for you.” He clapped once and drew back the velvet curtain. “Come,” he urged. “Let the Lord see just what he has paid for.”

Jared stepped from behind the curtain and for a moment Jensen was speechless. He was stripped of his black clothing, his plain shirt and breeches, the old black coat he wore gone. Instead he wore a green velvet top coat and a brown and green waistcoat, and a white linen shirt with flounced lace beneath it. His breeches were brown satin and he wore matching stockings, his shoes black with a red ribbon. The tailor had added a large plumed hat and it sat atop burnished chestnut curls. With his broad shoulders and incredible height Jared looked magnificent, so much so that Jensen could barely tear his eyes away. His breeches suddenly tight, and uncomfortable, hot sweat trickling down his spine.

Jared looked at him for the longest of moments and he seemed unable to move, paralysed, his hands clasped in front of him as if he were praying. 

“You look . . . .” Jensen had no words, dumbstruck he asked, “Do you like the clothes?”

“I-I . . . .” Jared flushed again, deep pink against the pure white of his collar. “These are too much, Lord Ackles. I cannot take such gifts from you,” he said and swallowed. “It is vanity,” he added, feebly.

“I want to give you these gifts, Jared for you cannot go to court looking like the plain black crow that you were.”

“Perhaps I should not go to court.” Jared licked his lips. “Perhaps I should go home.”

Jensen felt his heart sink and he shook his head. 

“Remember why you still have a home,” he said, pointedly and Jared’s expression told him that the barb had stung. He felt cruel all of a sudden but he could not let such a treasure slip from his grasp. “You will come to court with me.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Jared unclasped his hands and let his fingers trail across the soft velvet of his jacket. “Thank you,” he added, softly. “These and the other clothes are - they are so fine. I-I do not know how I will ever thank you for all you have done.”

“As I have said oft enough, we will find a way.” Jensen smiled then, satisfaction warring with lust in his gut. “We will certainly find a way.”

Jared sat in the coach and stared out of the small window. They were making their way along the long road that led to the palace. It was lined with neatly cut trees, the grass that surrounded it green and lush. Flowers of all colours adorned the carefully laid beds and there were two gardeners digging earth and turning it over.

As they came to the top of the road it became wider and Jared saw the palace for the first time. It was huge and appeared to be carved out of pure marble. Gold drapes hung in the windows that he could see, and the huge door was made out of pure oak obviously constructed to keep people out rather than let them in.

The coachman lifted down their luggage and carried it without question to the door. Jared had never been waited on in his life and it seemed odd not to do his own fetching and carrying. He felt hot and uncomfortable in his new clothing and it was hard to move. The stockings scraped uncomfortably against his calves and the shoes pinched his toes. All through the journey Jensen had stared at him with ill-concealed interest, and Jared’s gut clenched with unease as he wondered what he would have to do to repay the Lord for all of his generosity.

Deep down though he had an odd tingle of excitement in his gut; a strange anticipation that burned through him. He recalled the way his body had felt when the flower girls had touched him, the way his skin had throbbed, and the way his manhood had hardened. He knew it was wrong but he wanted to have those sensations again. He wanted hands on him. He wanted to feel.

“Jared!”

Jensen’s voice broke into his reverie and he turned to see that the door had swung open and Jensen was gesturing them inside. He swallowed as he took in the burly guards at both sides. They were dressed in red livery and had both guns and swords at their hips. Jensen nodded to them as he swept through and one of them put their fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly. 

Two small boys appeared dressed in miniature versions of the guard’s uniforms. Between them they huffed and puffed to lift up the trunks that the coachman had deposited. Jared moved to help one of them, but Jensen put a firm hand on his arm.

“Not now, Jared. From this moment you do not do a single thing for yourself, do you understand? There will be people to run your bath, bring your food, and even dress you.” He smiled. “You are part of the court now.”

He nodded, yet his body ached in sympathy for the two young boys but he said naught. Instead he followed Jensen down the seemingly endless corridor looking in wonder at the gilt edged portraits that lined the walls, his new shoes making no sound on the soft surface of the carpet that covered the floor beneath his feet. 

There was another set of doors at the end of the corridor and they were opened by a man dressed all in black. As the hall became wider Jared was aware of a maze of smaller corridors and numerous other doors. There were people everywhere all beautifully dressed, the women in silks and satins, and the men in velvets and ribbons. All of the men wore powdered wigs and some wore powder on their faces also. Others had carefully placed beauty spots around their lips or high on their cheeks. Jared could not stop staring, not knowing where to look, it seemed there were odd sights and gaudy colours in every single corner.

“I have rooms here,” Jensen was talking to him but he could barely hear him over the buzz of the crowd. “We will take our leave and rest there for a time, and then tonight I will present you to the King.” He seemed oblivious of all the chaos, the clutter, and the comings and goings. “It will be fine, Jared. I promise.”

****

Lord Ackle’s rooms were huge; palatial and so luxurious that Jared hardly dared sit down, let alone rest. There were two bedrooms both with four poster beds, drapes of all colours and gilded with gold thread hanging down from their finely carved pillars. Portraits hung on every wall, several chaise longue in red velvet were scattered all around, what appeared to be, the sitting room. There was a table full of paper in one corner and a massive window in the other. The room was bright and airy and it appeared to be scented with pomade and spice of some kind.

“This will be your bed.” Jensen waved his arm languidly. “There is a bath in the room beyond it. I will have my servant fill it and you may bathe and relax for a while.” He seemed to pick up on Jared’s unease because he smiled gently and moved over so that he could pat Jared’s arm, his fingers squeezing tightly through the velvet. “You have nothing to fear, Jared,” he said. “You are under my protection, and therefore the protection of the King.”

Jared inclined his head, he felt exhausted suddenly, a yawn catching him by surprise, bursting from his mouth before he had chance to draw it back. Jensen shook his head fondly.

“I know this is a lot to take in for you, but you will soon become used to it.” He walked over to a large cabinet and opened it, pulling out a glass bottle full of amber coloured liquid. “Go and bathe,” he urged. “I will bring you some of this to aid your relaxation.”

Jared did as he was asked, he went into the bedroom and began to strip himself of his new clothing. He laid it carefully on the bed and turned to his trunk only to find it was already empty, the rest of his clothing hanging in the closet, shoes laid side by side beneath them. He sat down on the edge of the bed and yawned again, his limbs heavy with sleep.

“Your bath is ready, sir.” One of the boys who had brought up his trunk stood at the door.

“Thank you.” He managed a smile, too tired to feel embarrassed that he was in his undergarments. “Could you show me what to do,” he whispered, a flush burning his cheeks. “I have never bathed in a bath before.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy didn’t look shocked or disgusted just gestured that Jared follow him. Jared moved into the small room and stood for a moment on the cold tiles, his eyes wide with wonder as he stared.

The bath was large and long, it was filled almost to the brim with steaming water, and rose petals floating on the surface; the sweet scent of oil filling the room. The boy bowed his head.

“I might suggest you take your undergarments off before you bathe,” he said, with a quick smirk. “I’ll leave you alone sir.”

When he had gone Jared stripped naked and stepped into the tub. He had never experienced such lavishness. The water was hot, a warm balm against his aching skin. The tub was long enough for him to lay in and he relaxed back into it letting the water envelop him. He’d washed at home, of course, but never in a bath. His mother had always said that _cleanliness was next to Godliness_ and he had adhered to her teachings but bathing had been in cold water that he had to fetch himself from the well, water that he would use both morning and evening, shivering in the half light as he splashed his face and dipped his hair into the bowl.

He opened his eyes for a moment, alerted by he knew not what. Jensen was standing at the foot of the tub staring down at him. He held a glass of dark liquid in one hand and the bottle in the other. His cheeks were slightly flushed but whether that was from the alcohol or the heat Jared did not know. 

It was odd; he was naked, and on display and he should cover himself up. He did not behave in a modest and Godly manner, but instead he lay still, silent, on display. His body was hot and languid from the bath and he felt sleepy, and relaxed, his arms over the side of the tub, and his head tipped back. It was as if he had been swept away by the decadence of the court, it was as if any shame he may have had, had been washed away by warm, scented water. He was aware of Jensen’s eyes on him, and of his breath quickening. He did not move closer though, he just stood staring down at Jared, his eyes burning. Jared felt his cock grow hard, felt it standing proud against his naked belly. He wanted to touch it then. He wanted to explore it, hold it in his hands, even though it was sinful and wrong.

He closed his eyes wondering what would happen next, anticipation making him breathless but when he opened his eyes once more Jensen was gone and he wondered if he might have dreamt him. He was not sure how he felt then, but he knew the strongest feeling in his body right now was that of disappointment.

The Lady Danneel glided towards him without preamble. He leaned casually against one of the marble statues that stood in the large throne room trying to give the impression of casual disinterest. He knew, from her expression, that the Lady was not convinced. Her red mouth was curved into a smile that showed her surprisingly well kept teeth, and her light brown eyes flashed mischievously at him.

“Welcome back, my Lord.” She put a carefully manicured hand on his arm. “Rumour was you were living in the country now. Were these rumours not true?”

“I was given the gift of a house there, ‘tis true.” Jensen smiled at her, all charm. “But I have not yet decided what to do with it, so for now I have returned to court to . . . ,” he paused dramatically. “Find myself a bride.”

“Really?” Danneel smirked. “I have heard that you were not alone when you arrived. Does the King know you have gotten yourself a companion?”

“I am yet to present him to the King.” Jensen swallowed down irrational anger. Already the tongues were wagging he thought, already they want to know everything.

“’Tis a surprise you brought anyone at all,” she was virtually purring now. “From what I have been told he is very tall, and very handsome.” She cocked her head to one side. “Is this true?”

“You will have to see for yourself, my Lady.” Jensen was beginning to regret his flight from his own rooms. “When I bring him tonight.”

“Ah.” Lady Danneel appeared to be admiring her own hand. “Tonight at court? Did you know that the King has invited Wilmot?” She clapped her hands delightedly. “And Barbara Villiers.” She glanced at Jensen trying to read his expression. “No doubt this will be a rather lively introduction to court.” 

“No doubt.” Jensen wanted nothing more than to escape her questioning. He had no qualms that she would make an excellent wife for him, but at this time he was only thinking of Jared.

He was thinking about Jared lying naked in the bathtub. Jared with his long body on complete display. Jared who had been so modest but seemed suddenly without any reticence, letting Jensen take his fill, making him ache to touch, and to caress. He had fled the room before he did something he might yet regret. Certainly he wanted the boy, he wanted him desperately, but part of the fun, part of the experience was the chase, and the seduction. Jensen intended to take what was his but he intended to take it slowly, to take as much pleasure from it as he could. Jared was not ready for such intimacy and Jensen had to make him ready, it was his duty.

“Will you dance with me tonight?” Danneel broke into his reverie.

“Of course.” He bowed, glad that the subject was changed. “It will be my pleasure.”

“And your new friend . . . .” Her eyes sparkled. “Will he dance?”

“I do not think he knows how,” Jensen said. “But I can certainly teach him.”

“Will you teach him other things too, my Lord?” Her insinuation was clear. 

“There is much for him to learn.” Jensen stared at her, like many of the women at court she was cunning and involved in many schemes. She was a confidant of the King’s favourite mistress and, if crossed, she could be dangerous but he had no intention of crossing her, and he knew just how to keep her sweet and on his side. “But I am sure he will be a very good pupil.”

Danneel laughed then.

“I will look forward to tonight,” she said. “I am sure your new friend will enjoy everything court has to offer.”

Jared stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself.

He had not even owned a mirror in his _old life_. He had dressed in the same clothing day in and day out and he had only washed his hair by dipping his head into cold water and untangling it with his fingers rather than a comb. There had been no vanity allowed, and he had not gazed at his own reflection before, not seen himself in such detail. The occasional glance in the church window or the wavering image upon the local stream was the only time he had ever seen himself and yet now here he was on display, a stranger he could barely recognise.

His skin was clean after his bath and his hair had been combed and styled by one of Jensen’s maidservants. It hung like a shining chestnut curtain around his shoulders, curling naturally at the edges like a woman’s might. He knew that he was tall, for people in his small town commented on it endlessly, but he had not realised how tall he stood until now. His legs, encased in blue satin beeches, were long and made longer by the high heeled shoes that Lord Ackle’s tailor had made for him. He could see the muscle in his calf and thigh and he rubbed at the back of his leg self-consciously. He let his eyes moved upwards so that he could look at his chest and arms. His shoulders were broad through long hours of physical work and his hands were callused, fingertips red raw and scraped. His wrists were covered by the white lace sleeves of his linen shirt and he tugged at them so that they hung over his scarred knuckles too. His coat and waistcoat were the same colour blue as his breeches and he fumbled with one of his buttons. They were made out of pearl and so tiny that his fingers could barely manage them. He sighed and moved forward, peering closer so that he could look at his face. Unlike a lot of the men he had seen at court his face was clear of powder and was, unfashionably, tanned, eyes crinkling at the corner, dimples denting his cheeks and chin. He pursed his lips and opened them to look at his teeth, which were surprisingly strong and white. He blinked once or twice and tried to decide if his appearance was pleasing. Jensen certainly seemed to think so and he watched the high bones of his cheeks turn pink as he thought about Jensen watching him bathe.

He moved away from the mirror and sat on the edge of the bed. He felt hot and uncomfortable already unaccustomed, as he was, to wearing so many clothes. The boy who had fetched his bath water and carried his trunk had dressed him, and it had been an odd experience. He had never had someone else put on his shoes for him or button up his shirt. The boy had been silent, huffing a little when he had to stand on his tiptoes to do up Jared’s shirt buttons or tie the lace at his throat. 

“Are you ready?” Jensen came into his room without knocking. He was wearing red silk and his hair was lightly powdered. Jared swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready.” Jared was aware of his voice shaking. “I’m not sure I’ll fit in at court.” 

“Oh, you will fit in all right, Jared.” Jensen smiled then. “The King loves beautiful things.”

Jared felt his face grow hotter and he knew he must look redder than the beets he used to grow in the top field. He rubbed his cheeks with his hands and shook his head.

“I am not beautiful,” he said, softly.

“There are many here who would disagree.” Jensen looked him up and down in the way that made Jared feel both excited and uneasy. “But regardless of that, you need not worry, you will be fine tonight but I must warn you that Wilmot is a hedonist and the King’s court is not restrained. There will be sights that you have never seen and things you have never experienced.” He shrugged. “But this is all part of your education.”

Jared smiled but he was aware of how forced it must appear. He suddenly felt afraid and a long way from home.

His life had changed beyond recognition in only seven days. One moment he was working on the farm, going to church every day and looking after his mother, and the next he was here at court, a place he had only ever heard about from his father, his mother and the sermons of the minister. All he knew of Charles’s court was that it had been compared to Hell; phrases like sinful, decadent and depraved used oft to describe it. Now he was going to be entering this den of iniquity, this bed of sin. He wondered what his mother may think and he made a vow not to tell her, promising himself that any correspondence would only talk of modesty and hard work even though lying was also a sin.

Once again he followed Jensen through the maze of corridors; it was like a labyrinth and he was sure he would never find his way back out again. As before, there were crowds of people at every turn. It seemed there were more perhaps than last time, women in fine clothing, men in their finery, servants rushing here and there carrying trays of exotic looking food, bottles of drink and other delicacies. Jared’s legs were shaking by the time they got to a pair of huge gold inlayed doors guarded by several soldiers in the, now familiar, red livery. They all stood to attention as Jensen approached and one saluted him.

“I did not know you served,” Jared said and shot Jensen a look.

“I fought at Worcester,” Jensen said, pride obvious in his voice. “I went into exile with our King.”

“My father fought for Parliament,” Jared said, his voice low. “My brother was killed at Marston Moor.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Jensen lowered his own voice. “Families were torn apart in that war, and we should be grateful that it is over and the King is back in his rightful place.” He paused for a moment. “Although I suppose you do not agree.”

Jared felt confused and unsure. Perchance he should feel wronged but he did not. He was too young to really remember what it was like before the Protector _ruled_ England, so in truth he had not known what it felt like to be ruled by a King. He had no real loyalty to anyone other than his own family and it was only now that he realised how stifling his life had been surrounded by people with narrow views and tunnel vision.

“I have no real opinion,” it was a feeble answer and he saw Jensen’s mouth quirk up into mirth. The older man slapped him on the shoulder, firm and quick and he shook his head.

“Court will be a true education to you, Jared,” he said, finally, as they walked through the open doors.

Inside the room was massive but despite this it was hot and oppressive, people crammed into every nook and cranny, the scent of perfume and sweat heavy in the air. 

There were marble statues everywhere, lewd depictions of naked men and women. As in most of the other rooms portraits lined the walls and next to them giant torches flickered, lighting the area with orange flame. Jared did not know where to look next. Women and men reclined on satin couches, some kissing and others entwined one with the other. An older woman wore her gown so low that her breasts spilled out over the bodice and her male companion groped at them with an almost desperate eagerness. Several men sat around a large table playing cards, while gaudily dressed women leaned over their shoulders. As Jensen led him through the throng, Jared saw other women dancing either with each other or with willing men. He stared for a moment as he had never seen dancing before. 

“The King,” Jensen whispered and Jared froze, his muscles tensing as he followed Jensen’s gaze.

At the top of the room was a dais with a gilt edged throne. Around the throne there were several small dogs that yapped and bit at each other and Jared couldn’t hold back a smile as he watched them wrestling and panting, furry bodies fighting for attention. Jared tore his eyes away from the dogs to look at the man seated on the throne. Jared had never imagined what the King might look like, but after all the church sermons he had listened to he thought that the King could resemble a demon or maybe even Lucifer himself but this was just an ordinary man. 

 

He slouched on the throne, legs spread, eyes narrowed as he watched the proceedings. He was very dark, swarthy like a Frenchman with a black curled wig and a thin black moustache. He had a large nose and bulbous eyes that were dark with curiosity, and when he smiled Jared could see that it would not be easy to resist his obvious charm.

“Lord Ackles.” The King rose to his feet. “A pleasure, but a surprise.” He smiled and threw open his arms. “I believed you to be in the country looking after your _new_ estate.”

“Your highness.” Jensen bowed low and urged Jared to do the same. Jared dipped his head and shoulders feeling clumsy, unable to look as effortlessly elegant as Jensen did. “I missed the joy of court too much to stay away, and the house is well looked after in my absence.”

“Indeed.” Charles’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Jensen, a smirk on his face. “So you returned to us and. . . .” He gestured to Jared. “You have brought a companion.”

“Yes, your highness.” Jensen bowed again and then drew Jared forward. “I found this young man while I was visiting the country, and I believed he would help decorate this already beautiful place.”

“And indeed he does.” The King gestured that Jared should join him on the dais and he went with shaking legs. His mouth was dry and his cheeks hot and, as he climbed up the steps to stand next to the King, he was aware that every eye in the entire court was trained upon him. “And so big.” The King himself was tall but Jared stood inches taller and the King had to look up at him, the smirk on his lips growing wider.

“A big boy,” the King said and the room erupted into polite laughter. Jared looked down trying to find Jensen in the throng. He could feel the sweat on his brow trickle down his cheek, salt taste on his lips. “No doubt, we can find a way to entertain you. What do you enjoy?”

There was no answer to that question for until this moment he had not _enjoyed_ anything. Perchance he liked riding, and he had oft felt a sense of satisfaction from a well-ploughed field, but that was all.

“I-I . . . I am uncertain, your highness.” Jared could smell his own sweat over the scent of the King’s pomade.

“Ah, an innocent.” the King smiled then and clapped his hands. “Bring this man a glass of red wine, my finest if you will, and then we will find out what he might enjoy here.”

“I have no doubt he would enjoy Lord Ackles,” another voice cried out and lewd laughter followed. Jared could not see who had spoken but the King shook his head almost fondly, resignation colouring his expression.

“Wilmot, I have told you on many occasions not to slander members of my court.” He put his hand on Jared’s shoulder. “I am sure we can find many a wench for this young man to enjoy. Lord Ackles has his hands full with the lovely Lady Danneel.”

He turned to Jared then and spoke low enough that only Jared could hear him.

“Wilmot is a rake and a despot, and whatever he says you should take with a pinch of salt. This is a liberal court and you may be an innocent, but I am sure that you know what is considered wrong in the eyes of both God and man.”

“Yes, your highness,” his voice wavered and he looked again for Jensen, there was an ache in his stomach and his heart beat fast, his breathing heavy. He knew what the King was suggesting and he knew it was wrong, but since that moment in the bathroom he had found himself wanting - wanting in a way that he knew would only lead to total damnation.

“Here.” The King handed him a goblet of thick red wine and he drank it back fast, the burn in his throat making him cough and splutter, and the warmth of it moving all the way to his churning guts. The King laughed and slapped his shoulders. “I like you boy,” he boomed. “I can see why Lord Ackles thought you had potential.” He clapped his hands and a young girl appeared beside him as if by magic. She was small and curvaceous, her long hair brushing bare shoulders, the curve of her breast visible over the frill of her bodice. “This is Mary,” the King said. “One of my most beautiful court ladies, she will take you to dine and when you have had your fill she may also teach you to dance.” He winked. “I do not think you should consider dancing a sin.”

Jared shook his head and allowed Mary to lead him down the steps into the mêlée below. It was hotter than ever, and people crammed around him laughing and drinking. He could not see Jensen and he felt panicked, hemmed in, and had a sudden longing to be out of this place and into the fresh air.

“You should eat.” The girl at his side was pressed up close. “Here.” She handed him another goblet of wine. “And drink.”

He swallowed down the wine and it made his head reel; he staggered back a little and Mary giggled leading him over to one of the couches and pushing him back. She was virtually sitting in his lap with her fingers carding through his hair, loosening the lace at his collar, and rubbing behind his ear as if he were one of the King’s dogs.

He turned to look at her and she was so close that their lips were almost touching. She laughed again and leaned in so that the slight touching of lips became a kiss. Jared’s body went tense, he had never kissed before but this was not how he imagined it or how he wanted it. In his sinful head he wished it was Jensen who was kissing him, wished it was Jensen’s tongue pushing against his own, Jensen’s hands strong on his shoulder. It was wrong and sinful and he might go to hell for those thoughts, but he did not want this and he wobbled to his feet pushing the girl off him and then, he was running.

“It appears you have lost your _companion-in-arms_.” Danneel came to stand by his side, a glass of wine clutched in her fingers. “The King sent him off with Mary Wessex,” she said and smirked. “So his _education_ would have begun very quickly indeed.”

Jensen was half in his cups and he realised, with a jolt, that he had not seen Jared since the King had taken him up on the dais with him. He had heard Wilmot’s comments though, and it had made him afraid. He was risking much by bringing Jared here but, at the time, it had seemed worth it. Now there was no sign of Jared, and Jensen searched desperately through the crowds wondering where the young man could have gone.

He excused himself ignoring Danneel’s smug expression, and the smirk on her pink lips. A sudden fear thrummed through him and, on top of that fear, a stab of jealousy. Mary Wessex was a whore, a high class whore, but a whore nonetheless. Jensen knew why the King had handed her over to Jared, and, to his chagrin it stung him, and made him hot like a green boy. Jared was his to educate, not some whore.

He found himself standing outside his own rooms, far behind him he could hear the braying merriment of the courtiers and he wondered if he should have stayed. Danneel would have _entertained_ him and he may have had the chance to ask for her hand. A good marriage would offer him the cover he needed, and he may well get a good dowry from it.

“Lord Ackles.”

Jared was at his side suddenly and he looked terrible; skin pale beneath flushed cheeks, eyes blown wide, specks of wine splattered across his white shirt, hands shaking as he reached out to touch Jensen’s shoulders.

“Jared,” relief coloured his words. “I could not find you.”

“The woman – Mary – she kissed me!” Jared flushed deeper. “I did not want her to kiss me.”

“Perchance you were not ready.” Jensen smiled then. “This has been a fast and sudden education.”

“I am not sure I will ever fit in here at court.” Jared was staring at him with frightened eyes. “I have not lived my life at all.” Jared’s eyes were bright with tears. “I am two and twenty summers and my life has been spent working on the land and in church.” He huffed a wry laugh. “It was not a bad life all things considered, but it was not much of one.”

“I should never have taken you away from it,” Jensen said. “It was wrong of me.”

“You offered my mother succour and you allowed us to keep our home.” Jared tipped up his chin. “I am grateful for that.”

“The King will soon lose interest in you.” Jensen hoped to reassure Jared. “He likes to play with new things, but there is always something new to take his interest.”

“I would like to retire to bed now,” Jared’s voice shook again. “I am sorry that I did not get to dance.”

“We will teach you to dance.” Jensen could not help the smile that burst out of him. “And you will learn to enjoy this new life, I promise you.”

Jensen watched Jared sleep, perchance it might seem an odd thing to do but he could not resist looking and he felt more at ease looking as the boy slept.

Jared’s long body was laid out on the bed, his legs were covered by the crisp cotton sheet but his torso was exposed. Jensen had to resist reaching out to run a finger down taut muscles and pert nipples, but he sat back with his arms folded and just looked.

He wanted Jared, and yet he wanted to take his time. It was an odd sensation and it was something that he did not think he had felt before. At this moment in time he had used only women, taking their innocence and leaving them without thought. He knew he had a reputation, one that was not quite as smeared as Wilmot’s or the King’s, but a reputation no less.

There had been men but he had never acted upon his lusts, he could have taken them to the Molly House and given into his feelings but he never had. Here in his rooms watching this innocent boy sleep he was overcome with feelings. Feelings he had no control over, feelings he knew he would have to act upon.

Jared slept on.

Jensen knew that he would have to, one day, return to his new estate and build upon it. He knew that the King would expect him to have a fine house and to set up a home there. He would perchance start a family, for the main purpose of marriage was to procreate. Marriage did not stop men (or women) acting upon their lusts. The King and Barbara Villiers were a case in point. She still came to court with her husband but she often left it on the King’s arm, and ended her evenings in the King’s bed.

He glanced again at Jared and sighed; what was it about this innocent that moved him so? Why was he so torn between taking what he wanted, and doing the right thing? He yawned then and closed his eyes for a moment. Tomorrow they would start anew and perchance he would come to his senses and take what he now thought of as his.

Jared woke with a start and groaned. His head hurt and his mouth felt as dry as dust. Bright sunlight filtered through the heavy drapes and he rolled onto his side pulling the sheets over his head.

He remembered only too well what had happened at court and he felt foolish as he recalled fleeing from Mary’s arms, fleeing from her kiss. He had proved himself to be the naïve innocent everyone already thought he was.

He got out of bed and checked his pocket watch, it was past noon and he rubbed his eyes unable to stop yawning. At home he would have already been up since before dawn and he could not believe he had slept so long. The wine had been strong and the experiences of the last few days had caught up with him. He wondered how his mother was, and he wondered how long Lord Ackles would let her stay in her, or rather now his, home. Jared thought Lord Ackles must be very disappointed in him. He had not been much of a companion thus far.

Hot water had been left for him and he bathed quickly. He dressed himself in a green shirt and black breeches and then he went into the main room to break his fast. There was no sign of Lord Ackles but there was bread and bacon laid out on the table. Jared’s mouth watered and he realised that he had not even eaten last night, hunger made his stomach grumble and he helped himself to a chunk of bread, buttering it liberally, thrusting in into his mouth and letting the thick creamy butter melt on his eager tongue. Greed, like everything else it seemed, was a sin but Jared cared naught for that at this moment. He ate eagerly, slicing more bread and taking another chunk of bacon, his hunger driving him on.

“You have not lost your appetite then?” 

Jensen came in through the doors, he was wearing a red coat and riding boots and his hair stuck to his forehead and cheeks with sweat. Jared could smell the heat of him as he breezed to the table and cut a slice of bread for himself and he flushed; caught as he was with a full mouth and butter smearing his chin.

“I thought that today I might teach you to dance.” Jensen flopped down onto one of the wooden chairs and gestured to Jared to do the same. “Would you like that?”

Jared swallowed.

“Is this so I will fit in at court?” He asked, finally.

“Not particularly.” Jensen shrugged. “You seemed to regret not dancing last night so I thought you may enjoy it.”

Jared felt his cheeks grow warmer under Jensen’s scrutiny. He lowered his head and stared at his own knees wishing he could think of something interesting or witty to say. He had never danced because dancing had been deemed a sin under the Lord Protector and he had seen people punished for it, seen the poles of May ripped down and burned while the towns folk had watched and prayed for God’s forgiveness.

“I thought perhaps you would send me home,” he said, finally. “After last night.”

“I told you, I regretted bringing you here,” Jensen replied. “But here you are, and here you will stay. I am sorry that the King thrust one of his whores at you, but be reassured, it will not happen again.”  
Jared could not find words. He was sure Jensen thought him a ‘callow youth’, not wanting to cavort with women, but he had no experience at all with them and he did not know what do to, or how to act.

“You’ve never kissed a woman before, have you?” Jensen’s question was laced with a quiet shock and Jared shook his head again, mortified.

“Apart from my mother? No I have not.”

“Have you never thought of it?” Jensen held his gaze, would not let him look away. “At all?”

“I knew one day I would marry, but I had never thought beyond that. My mother believed I should keep myself pure for marriage and that . . . ,” he paused, his mouth was dry and he chanced a glance at Jensen who was watching him eagerly. “That fornication was just a physical act to procreate, she did not believe you should take any pleasure in it.”

“Indeed.” Jensen looked shocked, stunned even. “And do you believe that?”

“I-I. . . .” He recalled the tightness of his breeches, and the way he had felt when Jensen had watched him bathe. His body had responded to Jensen in a way that it had not responded to Mary and he knew what that made him, even though he dare not put it into words. “I have never questioned it before.”

“But you are questioning it now? Do you like girls?”

“Yes, but . . . .” Jared could feel his heart thundering, and his skin tingling. If he put his thoughts into words he knew he would fall into immorality without doubt. “I like them well enough,” it sounded feeble but he settled for it. “There has just never been time to . . . .”

“You owe me no explanation, Jared.” Jensen rose to his feet and held out his hand. “But for now I propose we go out into the gardens. It is a very hot day and there are many private places we can practise our dancing in. I have no doubt you will be a natural.”

Jared nodded, he wished, deep down, that he had Jensen’s confidence.

The rose garden was surrounded by high hedges with roses of all colours blooming around them, and the scent was almost overwhelming. Jensen had been right about the heat, it was oppressive and heavy, the sun hidden behind a mist of heat haze.

Jensen shed his coat and undid the lace at his throat and he gestured that Jared do the same.

“First I am going to teach you the steps to a simple Baroque. When you have mastered them we will try something a little more complicated.” He moved into the centre of the garden and kicked off his boots. “You might be more comfortable in stocking feet,” he said, in way of explanation. “Although the Baroque is simple, these moves can be complicated.”

After an hour, Jared was certain that Jensen was not lying as to how complicated a _simple_ Baroque could be. His calves ached and his stockings were damp and muddied. His clothes were drenched in sweat and he was sure his scent must be most unpleasant. His legs felt as if they did not belong to him and he was as clumsy as any new born lamb.

“I do not think I am cut out for dancing,” he gasped and licked his dry lips. Jensen grinned at him and reached into a small leather satchel that he had been carrying. He handed Jared a carafe of wine which he drank eagerly, droplets spilling down his shirt and onto his breeches.

“Of course you are.” Jensen’s eyes swept up and down his figure. “You are tall and slender, you are made to dance.”

There were still doubts but he drank down the rest of the wine and continued to follow Jensen’s lead, trying desperately to bend his knee correctly, and to point his toe. He was aware of Jensen watching him constantly and he knew the other man was amused. His eyes fair glinted with ill-concealed laughter and Jared felt his own spirits begin to lighten despite the pain in his thighs and calves.

He was enjoying himself, he suddenly and unexpectedly realised. He was close to being happier than he had been in his entire life and while that should shock and horrify him, it did not. He felt light of spirit, his legs finally obeying him, feet skipping across the grass. It was hardly elegant but it was a start.

Finally, Jensen stopped him by clapping loudly.

“You have passed the first test, so now you must attempt the second. Now we will see how well you can handle a partner.” He grinned. “You must first imagine that I am a woman.”

He could not help the laugh that burst out of him and Jensen glanced at him in pleased shock. He shook his head and his hair tumbled golden around his shoulders, little shafts of sunlight catching the ends of it, green eyes glinting in the sudden light.

“What? Am I not pleasing enough?”

“You are small enough!” It was a jest, simple but enough to make Jensen almost explode with laughter.

“I am teaching you the ways of court too well Jared,” he said, finally, clutching at his sides. “Come, put your hands on my waist and we will try the Baroque again.”

Jared moved forward and rested his fingertips on the dip of Jensen’s waist. He could feel the warm damp of sweat but he clung on, moving his arm slightly so that he could wrap it lightly around Jensen’s body, hand resting on his shoulder blade.

“Good.” They were moving quicker now, dancing intensely to _invisible_ music. “You must lead me.” Jensen was letting him take charge now. “You should dip me over your arm, thus.” He tipped backwards and leaned into Jared’s grasp. He was heavy and it was sudden and Jared almost dropped him, both of them toppling sideways and landing with a heavy thump on the grass. “Do not do that with one of the court ladies!” Jensen was laughing again, breathing hard against Jared’s neck. “Or you will surely lose your head.”

Jared could hear naught but his own breathing and he put his hands either side of Jensen’s head holding himself upright and steady so that he didn’t hurt the man beneath him. He was close enough to Jensen to see that he had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, that his mouth was as full as any woman’s, that his eyes were beautiful, and the most exotic shade of green he had ever seen. Jared felt as if he was holding his breath, his chest was tight and his throat ached and all he wanted to do was kiss the man.

Without further thought he bent forward and pressed a kiss to Jensen’s mouth; it was brief and chaste, the sort of kiss he may have bestowed on his mother after church or his aunt on the rare occasion that he saw her. Jensen’s eyes opened wide for a moment and then they flickered closed. Two hands came up and gripped Jared around his nape, pulling him in closer, pressing their mouths together once more. This time the kiss was anything but innocent. Jensen’s tongue seeking his, wrapping around it, their mouth’s opening wide. He felt as if he was aflame, the passion bursting through him unexpected. He had never had such sensations in his entire existence and he clung harder to Jensen, pressing closer, his hardness taking him by surprise, groin thrusting mindlessly up against Jensen’s. All practical thought gone. 

“Not here, Jared.” Jensen broke the kiss and he heard his own frustrated moan. As Jensen pushed him gently away he felt comprehension return and the realisation of what they were doing and where they were doing it hitting him like a blow to the gut. “Not now.”

“I’m so sorry,” he stumbled over his own words, face burning with shame. “I-I . . . .”

“No!” Jensen put a hand on his arm, it was swift and brief and it was gone in an instant. “We should go back to my rooms and dine. Tonight you may put your new skills into practise.” He smiled but the smile did not touch his eyes. “It is all right,” he said, gently. “Everything will be fine.”

With that he turned, wiping the sweat from his brow and putting his boots back on again, pulling them over his stockings and gesturing Jared did the same. They walked back to the rooms in silence, the heat from the day dissipating now, clouds gathering in a sky that hung heavy with rain.

Jensen lay in the bathtub and stared at nothing. Outside the room he could hear his servant talking to Jared as he dressed the younger man for tonight’s visit to court. He could not hear Jared’s responses but he had been almost unnaturally silent since the afternoon and Jensen was concerned about him. He had not thought, not for one moment, that Jared would light up like that, that Jared would kiss him and respond to him in such a manner. It had been all that he could do to stop rolling Jared over in the grass and taking what he wanted, but he had been acutely aware that, despite the odd privacy of the garden, they were in a public place and that they could be discovered at any moment.

Jensen moved his hand down to his stomach and let it rest there for a moment, already he was hard thinking of Jared and his kiss. Jensen let his fingers touch the head of his manhood, damp from the water and already leaking fluid. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have Jared touch it, to have Jared take it into his mouth and the thought made him moan softly, his hand curling around his length and stroking slowly. In his mind it was Jared’s big hand touching him, those callused fingers working him. Already his balls were tight and his nipples taut and hard. He was going to lose it at any moment and he tipped his head back as his seed spurted hot over his fingers and down his wrist, his orgasm fast and delicious. If this was what his imagination felt like, imagine what it would be like to feel the real thing.

Afterwards, he cleaned up and dried himself. Tonight he would approach a trusted colleague and gain entrance to one of the private houses – a Molly house – there he could take Jared the way he wanted, and needed to, and no one would be any the wiser. He could educate the innocent young man in ways that did not involve dancing or dressing in the correct manner. He smiled to himself. Jared was chaste and virginal, two of the things that he desired in a lover. He did not think beyond his body or his needs, but deep down where his heart was, he wondered what would happen when the boy was deflowered. He knew that Jared could not go home, would not go home if he was covered in turpitude. Jared’s upbringing had been the strictest Jensen had ever encountered, a life where nearly everything that brought pleasure was deemed a sin. Jensen did not know what it must be like to have such a life and he did not want to. He kept telling himself that he had done Jared a great service by bringing him here, that he had given Jared the opportunity to really live life. 

The boy who dressed him was chatty, he spoke about how the King had planned some entertainment tonight, how there was going to be a performance by real actors and how the servants had been told they could watch the play too. Jensen nodded and made affirmative sounds but his mind was working beyond the play, beyond the court. 

Tonight he would have Jared.

***

The court was not quite as rowdy as usual for the guests tonight were especially invited and Jensen noticed that Wilmot was not present, nor were several of his rakish cohorts. The ladies were dressed more demurely, high headdresses and elaborate jewellery, while the men plumped for less formal attire, no high wigs or beauty spots, muted colours and plain shirts. Jensen watched Jared closely and noted that the boy seemed slightly more at ease, no longer clinging to Jensen’s side as if he were afraid of his own shadow. His face was still flushed and his eyes over bright, but he was definitely happier, a smile making his cheeks dimple.

The ladies watched him with interest as he walked by, and Jensen found himself looking at Jared from their eyes. He was tall and muscular, honed by years of hard work, his hair and teeth were his own and he was young enough and vigorous enough to father children. Jensen knew that Jared, despite his low social standing, would have no trouble finding a wife here at court. He had no doubt that the King would allow Jared to stay at court because Charles had a kind heart and was fond of waifs and strays. Jensen had no intention of telling his majesty about Jared’s puritan upbringing, deciding that the less he knew about the boy the better.

Perchance when he had taken his fill of Jared, Jensen would become bored as he had done with his previous conquests. The thrill of the chase was often more exciting than the catching, but this was extra special, this was something Jensen had wanted for a long time and, although he knew it was very wrong and he risked both of them, he was now determined to have it.

The play was one of William Shakespeare’s tragedies and interminably long. Jensen had to smother a yawn but he amused himself by watching Jared, watching the delight on his face, and the expression of awe as the actors cavorted in front of the court. After the third act there were refreshments and Jensen used those precious moments of quiet to seek out Lord Sebastian Roché. Sebastian was a renowned rake with a finger in many pies. He had friends in high and low places, and he would be sure to know the information that Jensen sought.

“Lord Ackles.” He smirked. “I have just been talking to your new companion.” He gestured to Jared. “A very interesting young man, and obviously much more God fearing than most at court.”

“Indeed.” Jensen inclined his head. “But I am not here to discuss Jared, well not directly.” He moved so that his lips brushed the shell of Sebastian’s ear. “I want you to escort us to Mrs Peach’s tonight.” He put his hand to his waist and handed Sebastian the full bag that hung there. “This is part of your payment, the rest will be forthcoming should our evening go well.”

“Mmmm.” Sebastian smirked again, all snake eyes and thin lipped. “That new _friend_ of yours does not seem the sort to frequent a Molly house.”

“I am educating him,” Jensen said, softly. “And this is part of his education,” he said and sniggered. “An important part.”

“You would lead him into such a place and take something he might not be willing to give?” Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “If you were caught then you both risk imprisonment, and maybe even death.”

“Then you make sure we do not get caught.” Jensen felt anger burn him. Sebastian was not one to talk to him about what he could and couldn’t do. He glanced over to where Jared was at the buffet table with a wine glass in his hand. He was talking to one of the actors, a definite smile on his face. Jensen felt something tug inside of him, felt his conscience stab him momentarily.

“Of course.” Sebastian reached into his pocket and handed Jensen a large gold key. It was heavy with rust and there was a black velvet ribbon around it. “This will let you into the house,” he said. “There are many rooms for private use, and this key will also allow you to enter my own personal _palace_. Everything that you need will be there.” He laughed humourlessly. “I hope it is worth it.”

Jensen smiled then, eagerness making him hard and ready.

“I’m sure it will be,” he said in reply.

It was not difficult to get Jared to leave the court once the play had finally finished, and the King had allowed anyone who wanted to leave, to go. Jared seemed more animated than ever, talking almost constantly about the play he had seen. It appeared to have moved him more than anything else he had seen at court, and Jensen was glad that he was in such a happy and pliant mood.

They took a handcart to Mrs Peach’s. Jensen insisted that they both wear wide brimmed hats and high collared coats. Jared did not question anything they did, and Jensen realised that what had happened that afternoon was playing on his mind. As they rode to their destination Jensen took a bottle of strong wine from beneath his coat and encouraged Jared to take a swig. The younger man tipped back his head and swallowed it down, choking a little as he did so.

“Gently.” Jensen laughed and let Jared drink again. It would not hurt for him to be a little loose, to let alcohol do some of his job for him. He wanted Jared relaxed and pliant, he did not want him to panic and give them both away. 

From the front Mrs Peach’s looked like any other tavern in the city. It was painted white with thick red drapes covering the windows and a sign swung above the door and, from inside they could hear the low throb of a harp playing. Jensen put the rusty key Sebastian had given him into the lock and turned it with a creak. The door swung open and Jensen hustled Jared inside.

It was dark, torches lit their way as they moved down the long hall into the main room. When they reached the next door Jensen tapped once and it swung open, the sudden scent of sweat, spice and ale flooding their senses. Jensen had never been inside a Molly house before and, for a moment, he could think of nothing to say. The whole room was painted scarlet, the loveseats made of black leather, the chairs inlaid with gold and silver. There appeared to be several _ladies_ laying back on the seats, but it was obvious at first glance that they were not ladies at all. Jensen had heard that there were men who liked to dress so, and that other men found that pleasing. He had never seen anything like this before and he was paralysed for a moment, unable to tear his eyes away.

He felt the sudden pressure of Jared’s hand on his arm and he glanced round to see the younger man’s pale face and stunned expression. 

“What is this place?” Jared all but whispered. “Why are those men dressed thus?”

“Don’t worry yourself about them.” Jensen hustled him along. “I have a room reserved for us.”

“A room?” Jared’s cheeks were pink now. “I don’t understand.”

“Here.” Jensen handed Jared the bottle of wine once more. “Take another drink and follow me.”

Jared did as he was bid while his eyes wandered around the room taking in the sights. Two men sat on one of the love seats and they were kissing passionately, their hands locked tightly in each other’s hair. Another couple were stripped to the waist and caressing each other intimately. One man was fumbling with another’s breeches, fingers searching eagerly for his manhood.

“This is sin personified,” Jared hissed, closing his eyes for a moment, head bowed. “We should not be here, Jensen.”

“Do you remember our kiss?” Jensen whispered, his hand stroking quick and brief along Jared’s tense jaw. “Do you remember how much you wanted it?”

Jared nodded and his eyes flew open; they were wide, the pupils black, a sudden dawning comprehension in them.

“Then follow me,” Jensen urged. “For we can have that pleasure here, again. I guarantee it.”

The rusty key opened the second door and Jensen stepped inside.

This room was small, intimate, a fire burning brightly in the grate as if someone had known it would be used. There was a massive four poster bed in the centre with coverlets of red satin and pillows of soft white cotton. On the table next to it there were two bottles of wine and two glasses. There was also a small pot and when Jensen moved closer he could see that it was scented oil. 

Jared hovered in the doorway, his face was flushed and his eyes over bright. Shaking hands reached up to push his hair away and he swallowed visibly.

“Come inside.” Jensen felt like a spider enticing a particularly juicy fly. “Sit on the bed and have more wine.”

Jared, again, obeyed. He seemed incapable of speech and his whole body was trembling. Jensen sat next to him and opened the wine bottle pouring liberal amounts in both glasses. He handed one to Jared who took it and swallowed it down without question. His eyes, when they met Jensen’s for a second time, were glassy and confused.

“You remember the day you bathed?” Jensen kept his voice soft, not wanting to spook Jared. “And I came in, and saw you there?”

Jared nodded. Jensen thought he looked so very young, innocent and afraid.

“You liked that didn’t you? You liked me looking at you.”

A nod, slight but there.

“And you would like me to look at you again?”  
Another nod and Jared’s eyes met his again, scared but hopeful.

“Take off your coat.”

Unsteady fingers pushed the coat away and then, without instruction, began to unfasten the finicky buttons on his shirt. Jensen watched with a dry mouth, his cock almost painfully hard in his breeches. Jared finished with his buttons and slipped out of the shirt so that he sat half naked on the bed, nipples hardening in the orange glow of the fire.

“Let me see.” Jensen pushed him gently and he fell back on the bed his head bouncing against the pillow. He flung his arm across his face but Jensen shook his head and bent down pulling it away. “All of you,” he said. “I need to see all of you.”

Jared’s fumbling fingers unlaced his breeches and he pushed them slowly over his slim hips. He wore simple undergarments that did little to hide his obvious erection, and Jensen licked his lips wanting to taste.

“Please,” Jared’s voice was so low that Jensen barely heard it. “Please, I have never . . . .”

“I know.” Jensen let his fingers walk down Jared’s flat stomach to the thin cotton that stood between him and his prize. “I know.”

Jared bit his lip and it was wonderfully erotic. Jensen pushed the cotton aside and stared hungrily at Jared’s manhood. It was already half-hard, hot and pink against his belly. Jensen had never dared go so far with a man before, had never dared come to a house like this before, but Jared was worth it. Jared was worth every moment of it. 

“Let me put my mouth on you,” Jensen whispered. 

Jared moaned then, head tipped back. Jensen moved over him and reached for the wine bottle. He held it to Jared’s lips and let him swallow then he moved it downwards and tipped some of the liquid over Jared’s lengthening cock watching as the younger man hissed and groaned, hips jutting upwards wordlessly.

Jensen licked the wine away from Jared’s hardness, it tasted sweet and salty, and like the thick syrupy wine and something that was uniquely Jared. He opened his mouth wide then and swallowed Jared down. Jared cried out then, hands twisting in the coverlet, his cock hitting the back of Jensen’s throat. Jensen had never done this to a man and he almost choked. Jared made to pull back but Jensen growled and pressed bony hips into the mattress, taking Jared down again. It was not like kissing a woman’s parts, it was thick and messy but it was the most sensual experience of Jensen’s entire life and he never wanted to stop, never wanted to stop hearing Jared’s desperate noises, never wanted to stop the feel of Jared’s hands holding on to his hair. Above him Jared gave a cry and flooded his mouth with his seed. Jensen could not swallow it all and pulled off, watching in wonder as Jared continued to orgasm, his whole body as taut as a bowstring.

Jensen needed his own release, so he crawled up the bed and lay down beside Jared, kissing him hard and passionate, letting Jared taste himself. Jared was shaking again, face red, eyes dark and wild. He looked almost feral, cock still half hard against his thigh, and his stomach painted white with his own come.

“I want to fuck you,” it was crude and basic and they were words he hardly ever used with a woman, but his lusts were base now, driven as he was to take this man.

“It’s a sin,” Jared’s voice was low.

“Anything we do in this room is a sin, Jared,” Jensen whispered. “But it is a beautiful sin. So beautiful. Jared, let me teach you just how beautiful it can be.”

Jared groaned then, letting Jensen grip him by the shoulders to roll him over.

“Up onto your hands and knees,” Jensen urged and Jared pushed himself up, his arse in the air. Jensen looked at the strong muscular cheeks and thick thighs as he reached for the bowl of oil and dipped his fingers inside. “This may hurt,” he warned. “I have been told that the more you relax the easier it will be.”

Then he began to prepare Jared. He was hot and tight untouched by anything. Jensen worked for, what seemed like, hours to loosen Jared, to relax him. He knew there was a special spot that would give pleasure, and he aimed to hit it over and over again. Jared was writhing back against his fingers now, mindless with it, all innocence and terror gone. Jensen could not wait another moment and he oiled up his already engorged manhood, taking Jared by the hips and pushing slowly and carefully inside.

It took a lifetime but, finally, he was balls deep within the other man and Jared was virtually sobbing, but it was hard to know if the sobs were of pleasure or pain. Jensen gripped tighter and began to move slowly, trying to control his thrusts but as lust took him he could not hold back a moment longer and he lunged harder pushing Jared further up the bed until the headboard rattled.

He came hard and fast inside Jared reaching around to grab the other man’s hardness and jerking it so that Jared sprayed his seed once more, moaning in desire and agony both.

Afterwards they lay panting, and Jensen managed to move enough to pour more wine. Jared took the glass in his hand and drank it gratefully. He looked deflowered and confused, debauched, and pleasured. Jensen laughed and took Jared in his arms.

“I have so much more to teach you,” he whispered. “I fear we may be here for some time.”

Jared looked at him then, deep and intense.

“I think – perchance – we may,” he said and leaned forward to kiss Jensen firmly on the lips, his intentions clear.

Jared awoke with a start. For a moment he could not remember where he was and he thought he might be in his own bed ready to get up and start a day’s work in the field.

He ached all over; his body throbbed, his skin littered with bites and sucked in bruises. He rubbed his eyes for a moment as the hazy memory of the last two days and nights came back to him. His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as he retched, throat closing on dry heaves.

He stumbled out of bed on shaky legs and noticed there were all manner of bodily fluids on him and he felt suddenly hot and dirty, his mind awhirl at all the things he had done and all the evils he had committed.

The room he was in was bright and airy and it was clear he was no longer in the Molly House. There was a bowl of steaming water by the window and two large white towels. A bottle of pomade stood on the shelf and there was a table full of food; fresh bread, pots of fruit preserve, a bowl of fruit and some bacon cut from the bone. Jared’s stomach rolled again, and he was torn between eating, and vomiting.

“You are awake.”

The door opened to reveal Jensen standing there. He was wearing a red silk dressing gown and his feet were bare. His hair was tumbled over his shoulders and his white skin was flushed red. Green eyes met his for a moment and then looked away.

“Where am I?” Jared sat tense on the edge of the bed. He was acutely aware of his nakedness but he did not feel immodest. It was far too late for that.

“We are in a coaching inn just outside Cheapside.” Jensen strolled casually over to the table and busied himself with slicing bread. “I brought you here last night after . . . ,” he paused. “I thought you might need some rest and succour.”  
“Was I in my cups?” Jared’s mouth was dry and he reached for the jug of water beside the bed.

“You were merry.” Jensen smirked then and Jared felt sick again, swallowing the water down so fast it made his head ache. “But we did naught you did not want to do.”

Jared stayed silent. He was not so merry he could not remember, and even if his memory was foggy his skin showed the marks of their two nights together. He wrapped a sheet around his waist and moved to the table. He took an apple and bit into it ignoring his mother’s voice as he heard her in his head telling him firmly about _original sin_. It was too late now for regrets, and he had to keep telling himself that. He had not only committed crimes against God but against man, and if he were caught it would surely be a flogging and perhaps the noose. He shuddered and then goose bumps prickled his skin. He had been foolish, so foolish, but somehow in the very heart of him he could not regret.

“Will . . . will we go home soon?” He hardly dare ask for he knew what happened to _whores_ , and he was certain that he was going to be rejected, and sent home in shame. He thought of his mother and how she might be thrown out now, how they both might have to go to the church for shelter and succour. 

“Maybe this evening.” Jensen stretched out his limbs and Jared watched him wide-eyed. The nausea he had been fighting was tamped down now, and he found he could not tear his eyes away. “I for one am starving.” He gestured to the food. “Do you wish to break your fast?”

“Yes.” Jared swallowed, pathetically, grateful that he was allowed to return to Lord Ackle’s rooms. “I would.”

“Good, let us eat then.” Jensen gestured he come sit at the table and he went, still clutching the sheet. Jensen looked amused but there was something else in his eyes, something Jared did not recognise.

“Thank you.” he reached for the bread groaning as his arm muscles protested, his back pulling.

“No, thank you,” Jensen purred and Jared knew that he was lost.

Jensen was not as satisfied as he thought he would be. At this point in time he was usually leaving his conquest in their bed, a quick farewell kiss to their forehead, a vow never to see them again. This was different. He had taken Jared, taken his innocence and taken his virginity and yet he still wanted him near, he still wanted him in all ways. It was not like him, and these new feelings disturbed him greatly.

For his part Jared just seemed grateful and desperately eager to please. He was, if it were possible, even quieter than ever, and Jensen felt both guilt and pleasure when he glanced in Jared’s direction. 

Jared seemed more settled at court now. He was not so nervous, nor did he jump out of his skin if women approached him. He seemed more confident and more at ease, and he even tried dancing. Jensen found himself watching Jared like a fond father might watch their child, but his feelings ran deeper than that. For the first time in his life he was responsible for another human being and it scared him.

Jensen still wanted Jared. He wanted to take him to the Molly house again, and wanted to lay with him. He wanted him badly. It was difficult being around him, made harder because Jared appeared to have shed a lot of his modesty. He was happy to move around Jensen’s rooms in nothing but his undergarments and he was temptation personified. Jensen wished that he could take Jared there and then, take him in the privacy of their rooms and hope that no one ever discovered them. It was a risk he was almost ready to take, but he was still very afraid. Servants, however loyal, could be easily bought and one loose word would soon lead to their downfall.

Instead, he tried to treat Jared as a companion and he found himself pleasantly surprised at how much he enjoyed the younger man’s company. Now there was no more tension between them, they could talk more. Jared opened up about his life under the Protector, told Jensen of his long hours in the fields, of how he spent his Sabbath in church on his knees in prayer, how there was no entertainment allowed in his house and how the only book in his mother’s possession was the Bible.

He also discovered that Jared could hardly read nor write. Jared was clearly upset and embarrassed about the fact but Jensen reassured him that it was not important. However he did make a promise that he would teach Jared his basic letters and that very fact made Jared happy enough to give him one of his hesitant dimpled smiles.

Another pleasant surprise was that Jared could ride and ride well; this meant they could spend their leisure riding through Regent’s park with the rest of the court. The King appeared to have grown fond of Jared too, and to Jensen’s relief, he never questioned where Jared had come from, accepting him on face value and the fact he was Jensen’s friend. He also never mentioned Jensen’s land in the country nor did he question why Jensen never spent time there. Eventually Jensen knew he would have to build something on that land and that he would have to send Jared’s mother away. It stung his conscience to even think about it, and so he tamped it down in his mind and pretended that it was not even of consequence.

It was late at night and Jensen was reading in front of the blazing fire, Jared was sitting at the table flipping cards over with his long fingers. There was a tension between them now, a thick air of anticipation and Jensen could not settle, fidgeting in his seat, almost sitting on his own hands. He glanced up to see Jared staring at him with dark eyes and flushed cheeks and he knew; he knew that they were never going to be able to stop this, that it was going to happen.

He dismissed the servants and handed them gold in liberal amounts, gave them instructions to buy themselves a good meal, a reward for their service. If they suspected anything they gave no indication and Jensen realised that, perchance, it would not even enter their heads. Sodomy was a crime, but it was also rare and those who did practise it were excellent at hiding. With the exception of Sebastian, Jensen knew no other man at court who had given into, what was described as, base lusts.

But there was something else too. Something Jensen could not admit even to himself. What he was feeling right now was surely desire but there was something deeper, a yearning that he could not put into words. Jared made him feel warm inside, and the warmth was naught to do with the physical longing. He wanted to hold Jared, to kiss him, he wanted him close and in his bed but he wanted other things too, things he had never wanted in others.

Jared saw him coming and stood instantly, his long arms wrapped around his waist and his shaggy head buried itself into Jensen’s stomach. Jared slid to his knees and rested his cheek against Jensen’s thigh. Big eyes looked up into his.

“I need you,” Jared whispered, shyly and Jensen’s stomach clenched, a tenderness he had never before felt flooding through him. 

“Jared,” he groaned and the younger man smiled at him, twisting his head, fingers fumbling with Jensen’s breeches, intention obvious.

Jensen could barely believe it when Jared unfastened the laces on his breeches and pulled out his eager erection. He knew that Jared had never done this before, but the younger man seemed determined, his mouth closing on Jensen’s manhood, his tongue licking eagerly. Jensen lost all control, gasping as new sensations overwhelmed him. He came quickly, like a green boy, flooding Jared’s mouth with his seed, holding onto Jared’s head, fingers tangling eager in his hair. 

He looked down at Jared’s flushed cheeks, and at the white stain of Jensen’s essence around his lips. This was something special and unexpected and he could not stop himself from pulling Jared up into his arms and smothering him with kisses.

They lay in the tumbled bed, arms wrapped around each other, Jared’s face buried into the juncture between Jensen’s shoulder and neck. He felt warm all over, pleasure still thrumming through him, the taste of Jensen still strong in his mouth. If this was sin then he did not want it to end, and he felt he would walk through hellfire so that this, whatever it was, would last forever.

He had no real experience of love for his parents’ marriage had been arranged and while they were happy enough they had been more like partners than lovers and they had never shown any open affection. He had been to many weddings, but they had been religious and dull; the bride was always dressed plainly and the groom in funeral black. There was never any dancing or fine food to be had, and Jared could not associate any of these occasions with love no matter how hard he tried.

 

Here in the warmth of Jensen’s room, wrapped safely in his arms Jared felt he was closer to love than he had ever been. He may have dreamed of marriage to a good, pure woman, but it was now a pipe dream and something he knew he would never have. He was aware that his mother would be disgusted with him and would, no doubt, disown him, and tell him he was bound for the pit. Once he might have believed her, but now he was certain that she was wrong. He had experienced a lot of the things she had deemed sinful and he had relished them, he had wanted to do them again. Dancing, dining on fine foods, drinking wine and ale, fornication, all of them were classed as sins and yet all of them had given him the greatest of pleasures. Here at court, he had finally started to live and he did not ever want it to end.

“You are thinking too loudly,” Jensen’s voice was low and seductive in his ear. “Perchance, I have not tired you enough for sleep.”

“No.” Jared rolled over unable to keep the smile from his face. “You have not.”

“Things I have taught you . . . .” Jensen brushed a warm hand across his hectic skin. “Things you have learned.”

Jared shuddered but it was a pleasant sensation, his body awakening yet again, alive to Jensen’s touch. Jensen chuckled and stroked his fingers over Jared’s bare flank. They were questing and gentle, and they made him so hot he was almost burning.

“Jensen,” he said and the older man gazed down at him. Jared hoped that the need in his voice was not too desperate but he had been unable to hold it back, the sudden urge to voice his feelings almost too much for him to bear.

“Jared, don’t.” And Jensen knew, he had too. “Not now.”

“I-I” he swallowed, licking his dry lips. “I . . . .”

Jensen placed a firm finger on his mouth and shook his head.

“I know,” his voice was hoarse. “I know, Jared.”

There was a moment of panic then, a moment of fear that he would be sent away, and fear that he would not have this again. Jensen must have read his mind because his eyes softened and his full mouth curved into a smile.

“No words,” he whispered. “We do not need words to know what is between us.”

Jared lit up from the inside and he felt as if he might fly from the bed he was so light, and so happy.

“Always,” he spoke around Jensen’s finger pushing for something, anything he could cling to.

“Always,” Jensen replied and it was as good as any marriage and twice as bright.

Most of the men at court had mistresses. They set them up in fine town houses in the City, and took care of their every need. Some sent their wives to their country estates so that they could openly _flaunt_ their concubines. The King had many mistresses and, as yet, no wife. Barbara Villiers, Countess of Castlemaine, was one of the most infamous. The King was soft with his women, and it was clear that he held them in great affection. Therefore, whilst he did not openly condone such behaviour, he did not condemn a man for seeking out love wherever he could find it.

Jensen was not yet wed but it would only be a matter of time. He knew of few court marriages that were love matches, most were arranged and involved huge dowries or estates. Jensen knew that he would be expected to wed and have children but it was something he was reluctant to do.

He had, to his shock, fallen in love with Jared. This was not something that he had thought could ever happen to him, and he did not know what to do. He could not set Jared up in some city house, it would be too dangerous and too much suspicion would fall upon them. He could not send Jared to his country estate as it would be tantamount to sending him home, and Jared would feel as if he had been sent away. There was no easy solution to this problem and Jensen spent sleepless nights trying to fix the mess that he had, unwillingly, made.

The King helped to some extent by offering Jared rooms of his own at court. It was clear that Jared did not want to leave Jensen, but it made life a little easier for them both if temptation was removed. Jensen wanted Jared, and he found it hard to resist taking him. That stay at the Molly House had been wild, and they had taken far too many risks. Jensen had found them another Molly House far away from the city and from court, and Sebastian had given them their own room there. It was safer for them to meet there and give in to their pleasure.

Jared sought a solution because he wanted them together all the time, but Jensen knew such foolishness would lead to them being discovered. What they were doing went against both God and man and Jensen felt sure the King, despite his easy going nature, would not tolerate their liaisons. What had started as base lust had led to something more, something deep and long-lasting, and Jensen was aware that there was no going back from this. He wanted Jared in every way that one person might want another, and it both astonished and scared him. 

It had been a year since the King had returned from exile and he was holding a huge gathering at court. Everyone was invited and the whole palace was crowded from corner to corner with people. Wilmot was there to read out his poems and there were even dignitaries from the French court. Jensen and Jared arrived fashionably late and found themselves pushed here and there by the teeming humanity. Everyone was in their finest clothing, and Jensen felt almost claustrophobic as he guided Jared through the throng.

The younger man was still uneasy among crowds. He stood head and shoulders above the rest of the court, and only the King’s cousin Prince Rupert was as tall and as noticeable. At times like these Jensen wondered if he were doing the right thing by keeping Jared here. He could not regret taking him from his home and he could not regret taking his innocence. They had come a long way since he had brought Jared from his small town in the middle of the country, but sometimes when he saw Jared like this; spooked and uneasy like an unbroken steed, Jensen felt guilty and it was a guilt that he could not assuage.

“Lord Ackles.” Danneel appeared behind him suddenly, her breasts pushed up against his back in obvious invitation. “What a pleasure.” Her eyes flicked up to where Jared stood almost too close to his side, eyes wide in panic. “I hoped you would be here.”

“Lady Danneel.” Jensen bowed awkwardly and moved so he could kiss her hand. “The pleasure is mutual.”

“Good.” She glanced at Jared again. “I believe the Lady Genevieve would like to talk to your giant here.” She smirked as Jared flushed crimson. “She is waiting by the buffet tables.”

Jared’s eyes met Jensen’s for a moment and Jensen nodded slowly. Jared’s sigh was almost audible, but he inclined his head to Danneel and moved towards the buffet, his dragging feet showing Jensen just how reluctant he was.

“Come outside with me.” Danneel’s fingernails bit into the flesh of his arm. “I wish to talk to you.”

“The King is expecting me.” Jensen felt a stab of impatience. “I do not have time to dally.”

“I think you do, Lord Ackles,” Danneel lowered her voice. “I do not believe you will want these good people hear what I have to say.”

Jensen stared at her for a moment.

“You are making no sense.”

“Then come outside to take the air with me.” Her expression was smug. “And you will hear exactly what it is I want to say to you.”

They pushed through the crowds and out into the gardens. The night air was chilly and Jensen felt goose bumps rise upon his flesh. Danneel steered them further from the court until they were standing in the darkness of a small alcove, the distant tinkling of a water fountain the only sound.

“What is this about, Danneel?” Jensen felt his anger rise.

“Lady Harris, to you my Lord,” her voice was syrupy, low. “Although I am hoping it will soon be Lady Ackles.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Marriage, Lord Ackles. I thought that you would have asked for my hand already, but you are dragging those attractive heels of yours. Perchance, you have found a new love?”

“You were never _my love_ in the first place,” Jensen snapped, unable to hold back the words. “Our marriage would be one of convenience for both of us.”

“No matter.” She sneered at him. “Whatever our marriage will be, it _will_ be.” Her hand gripped his arm again, nails so sharp they almost drew blood. “You will wed me, and you will build me a beautiful new house on your _new_ estate. Whatever tenant you have living there now can be ejected easily enough.”

“Let me make this clear.” Jensen put his hand over hers and squeezed hard. “I am not going to marry you, nor am I building you a house. Whatever affection I may have once felt for you has long since dissipated, and since your last little speech all I feel now is disgust and dislike.”

“That is a shame,” her voice did not falter. “For now I fear I will have to tell the King about your _new_ love, and imagine how badly that will go for you. Perchance, you may only suffer a flogging and a long stay in the not so comfortable rooms of the tower, but your colossal friend will surely be hanged for his heinous crime.”

“I-I. . . .” his obvious hesitation all but gave him away. “I do not know what you are saying.”

“You may think you have friends in high places, Lord Ackles but remember that friends can easily be bought, and sometimes they come very cheaply. Oft when Lord Roché is in his cups, his mouth runs freely and he has such fascinating tales to tell.”

Jensen’s mouth was dust dry and his heart ached. He knew then that he was doomed, that there was naught he could do. Tears stung his lashes sharp and unexpected, the pain in his throat unbearable as he realised just what was at stake.

“And what will happen if I agree to our nuptials?”

“Things will stay much as they are. Of course you will have to demolish the old farm house that now stands on your new land, for I require a country estate.” She patted her stomach. “I require a child too, an heir to the Ackle’s fortune.” Her laughter was cruel. “As for your _lover_ , I would not condone such disgusting practices and would not want him loitering around the court like an unpleasant stench beneath my nostrils. Perchance, the King will find a match for him. I understand the Lady Genevieve is most interested. She is of French descent and so he might be more welcome there.”

“You would . . . you would have me send him away?” In his devastation his tongue was fast and lose. “I . . . do not ask that of me.”

“You must prefer _exile_ to death?” Her eyes were cruel. “At least he will be safe there, and no one will ever know what you did together in the dark.”

Jensen’s heart sank deep within his chest. He felt it break open and the pain was without compare. He thought of Jared and his innocence, of how much he had taken and how much he had ruined. His selfishness had doomed them both, and there was naught he could do.

“At least let me speak to him.” He was begging now, and it galled him to do so. “Let me explain so that he does not think that I . . . .”

“You want one last night with him? To do disgusting things to each other?” She shuddered. “I do not want our future to be sullied thus. No, Lord Ackles, you must announce our engagement tonight during this party. I will talk to your _country boy_ and tell him how much in love we are. I want to be wed, and I want a child but – unlike most _ladies_ – I do not want a philandering husband, and this way I get everything I want.”

“You will destroy him!” Jensen could not stop the tears now and he hated that she had made him cry. “You have destroyed us both.”

“He will learn to live with it, as will you. It is usually a woman’s fate to be used thus, so it is refreshing that, for once, it will be the man’s.”

The Lady Genevieve was small and very slender with sallow skin and big dark eyes. She tells Jared that she is of Spanish descent and that she is here to learn English and find a good husband at the court of the English King. Jared is certain he could never be that husband, but he tries, desperately, to make conversation while he searches for Jensen, eyes forever roaming over the crowds.

It was late and he was tired. He had no appetite for the cornucopia of food that was served on laden tables and he had been loath to drink wine on an empty stomach. He just wanted Jensen, he felt pathetically anchor-less without him and he could not go back to his rooms until he saw him.

The King stood tall on the dais and clapped his hands loudly to draw attention. He was smiling, teeth alarmingly white beneath the black moustache he wore. Jared forced his eyes forward and felt the breath caught in his throat as he realised that Jensen was standing next to the King, the Lady Danneel hanging from his arm. 

“I have good news.” The King threw an arm around Jensen and pulled him closer. “One of my oldest and dearest friends, Lord Ackles has announced his intention to marry the beautiful Lady Danneel. Eager as he is to be wed he has told me that their betrothal will be but a short lived affair.” The King laughed. “They will be married at my palace at Westminster. I trust you will all join me there.”

In that moment Jared’s world shattered. He could barely breathe, and he felt as if he might swoon like a girl as the room spun around him. He tried to catch Jensen’s eye but the older man stared straight out ahead of him. He did not look happy nor did he look sad, his expression was alien, blank, and his eyes were flat. Jared wanted to push through the crowds and take him into his arms but he knew that it would be so very wrong. He was shaking and he could feel Lady Genevieve’s eyes upon him.

Jensen had not told him of any forthcoming wedding. He had led him to think that there was more between them than physical lust, but it appeared he had been lying. Jared should have known, should have realised that Lords do not fall in love with farmhands, that Jensen brought him to court simply to assuage his lusts. Jared had known that sodomy was a sin, but it had not mattered. Nothing had mattered but Jensen’s hands on him. He had hoped that they would find a way to be together but his hopes were now dashed upon the tiles. He had to get out, he had to leave court and leave Jensen. He could not watch the man, he loved, wed another. He could not stand being made a fool of in this manner. He was young and he had been innocent, but now he was stained in sin. He could not go home, could not in all faith go back to his mother with his tail between his legs, and could not look her in the eyes knowing all that he had done.

He must leave. Perchance, he might find a position somewhere, he was strong and healthy, and he could toil in the fields or even work aboard one of the big ships that docked in the harbours. He swallowed and wiped at his eyes. He had not lived until the moment Jensen brought him to court, and now this life, brief and pleasurable as it had been, was over. He had to start anew.

“How could you sell me out thus?” Jensen had Sebastian pressed against a wall. It was so late at night, it was almost morning and he was almost mindless with alcohol, his hand already on his knife.

He had cornered Sebastian on his way to some corrupt liaison, and the man was fortunate he was almost too drunk to function. Danneel had followed him unrelenting since theirannouncement, and it was only when he told her he had to go back to his rooms that he was finally free of her. 

His whole body ached. His eyes sore and stinging with unshed tears. There was naught he could do unless he had the courage to admit the truth to his King (which he did not). Danneel had him caught as tight as any fish in a net and there was no escape. He had not seen Jared in the crowd but he feared for him. Jared would not understand why this had happened, it had been so unexpected, so sudden that neither of them could have foreseen it. Now he had no one to blame but himself, but he was determined to take someone with him and that someone was the traitorous cur who had betrayed him.

“I did not sell you out.” Sebastian struggled against his hold. “She came to me and asked after you. It was clear she wished to wed you, and I-I thought it was what you wanted also. I mentioned your exploits in passing, I was in my cups and my mouth was loose.” He pushed against Jensen ineffectually. “It was not enough to seek my death.”

“I disagree,” Jensen slurred, breathing hotly into Sebastian’s sweat stained face. “It was more than enough. I did not want to marry that bitch, and now I must. Not only that, she insisted I do not talk to Jared. He has no-one but me, and I fear for his safety.”

“He is a grown man.”

“He is an innocent boy.”

“A boy who visits Molly Houses with his lover,” Sebastian said and laughed, wryly. “I think not.”

Jensen let the knife fall from his grasp and slumped back against the wall. Sebastian stared at him stunned as if he had not expected such sudden capitulation. He moved quickly, slithering away from Jensen before he even had the chance to change his mind.

Jensen made his way to his rooms and as he passed Jared’s he hesitated, his hand hovering over the oak door, desperation driving him.

“He’s gone, my Lord,” one of the King’s guards spoke softly in his ear. “He came back here not more than an hour ago, packed only a meagre bag and left.” He shook his head. “One of the boys said he left all his clothes inside, took naught but what he had on his back.”

Jensen felt bile choke him and he staggered away before he lost the contents of his stomach. Jared had left. No doubt he had gone home, back to the house that Danneel had insisted he destroy. He no longer held back the tears that had long threatened, instead he wept openly, not caring what anyone thought or said. He had lost something very precious this night, and he was not sure he would ever have it again.

Jared fully intended going home. He took nothing but the clothing he had arrived in not wanting to be in debt to Lord Ackles in any way. He had spent the night in a coaching inn crying like a baby. He felt foolish and used, lower than a street whore. He had let fine things turn his head and he had let Jensen into his heart. He had truly thought that there was affection there, but he was wrong. Perchance nothing Jensen had said to him had been the truth, he had led Jared on wanting only to seduce and take what he wanted of him. Jared had allowed it to happen, and now he was cast out of Jensen’s life, out of court and, more importantly, out of heaven.

He was exhausted for sleep had eluded him, and he had no appetite. He was trying desperately to get enough money together to afford the coach journey home but he did not have anything left but a few gold coins. He stood beneath the trees to shelter from the unremitting rain, cold bit at his fingers and nose, and he gazed at the grey river wondering if it would be better to throw himself beneath its welcoming current.

“You lookin’ for work, pretty boy?”

The man who spoke was small and slim. He was older than Jared but still young enough to look fresh faced, and eager. He had long black hair that hung in tangles around his shoulders and his face was smeared with powder, his lips a thick shade of red.

“I am.” Jared could not turn down the chance of money. “I am strong. I can lift things, work hard and long hours.”

“I do not require your strength, beautiful.” The man laughed. “But your beauty.”

Jared’s mouth was dry, his eyes hurt and his stomach growled. He was tired, worn down and there was nothing left for him. He had lost everything in one evening and he felt as if there was no alternative. It was this, or death and he was not sure which he most feared.

“What do you want of me?”

“My name is Matthew Cohen, I run a Molly House just by the Thames. Do you know of such an establishment?”

“Yes.” Jared lowered his head so the man could not see his easy tears. “I know.”

“There are but three in the whole of London, and mine is one of the best. I pride myself on being a good master. I do not use nor do I abuse my _‘Mollies’_ , and I give them a fair share of the profits. You would be a great asset if you are willing.”

“Aye,” he replied, too weary to argue. He was lost and damned anyway, so he may as well accept his fate. He had gained such pleasure in Jensen’s arms and, perchance, with a little wine, a little something else, he could have that again at least.

“Then you will come?” The man held out a tobacco stained hand and Jared took it.

“Yes,” he said, softly. “I will come.”

Jensen found himself bound up in a whirl of wedding plans. It was something he neither wanted nor needed, and he felt as if he was existing rather than living, and just stumbling through his life.

He realised, with a jolt of self-pity, that he had no real friends. He had served in the army and he had brothers-in-arms, but they were either dead or moved away. None of them had enjoyed court as much as Jensen had, and while he had stayed at his King’s side many of them had gone to fight other wars, and throw themselves behind other causes. Jensen knew now how shallow he must appear. He had a reputation and it was one he was once proud of. Now he wished he had not lived thus, and he was weighed down with regret and a heavy grief for what might have been.

Women envied Danneel. He saw her often, and she was always surrounded by hoards of giggling Ladies and Ladies-maids. He had no time for them, even if they did throw themselves at him when her back was turned. He had no affection for her, in fact he hated her and her very touch made him feel sick. He wished he could go and talk to someone, anyone, but he could not and he was lost.

He searched for Jared fruitlessly. He sent messengers back to his _country estate_ , but their only report was that Jared’s mother still lived in the house and that there had been no sign of her son. Guilt stirred into his gut when he realised that, soon, he would have to tell her to leave. Danneel had demanded her _place in the country_ , and he knew if he did not meet her demands she would tell everyone of his sin.

Sometimes he believed it would be easier to confess. Jared had gone and Jensen was alone. Jared could not be punished if he could not be found, and Jensen wondered if it would be better for him to be held in the tower rather than held ransom by Danneel. He was a prisoner, and he could think of no way of escape.

Laudanum and Opiate were the drugs of choice, they made reality more tolerable, blotted it out, and took away any feelings or sensations that were unwanted. Alcohol helped too; strong gin or rancid whiskey and all of it readily available. It aided sleep, and erased memories that were too good to retain. Here in the dark, womb like atmosphere of the Molly House, he became something different, something new.

Sitting in front of the mirror Jared studied the face that stared back at him, it was thinner now, bones standing out in stark relief. His eyes were lined with black kohl and his lips red with balm. Beauty spots hid his own ugly moles, and there were ribbons in his hair. It was longer now and it hung in abundant waves around his shoulders and down his back. He wore a low cut gown that had been made especially for him, silk tied loosely around his back to emphasis his broad shoulders and narrow waist. No one here called him by his name, he was treated as a woman now, used by men who needed something different but dared not put a name to it.

Matthew had been as good as his word. Jared was given a fair percentage of whatever money he took from his _regulars_. They were more than generous, bringing him sweetmeats and trinkets, bottles of gin and some of the finest tobacco. The men who came here were rich and needy, and they believed that silence could be bought. Jared would never talk. He had lost his tongue when Jensen had rejected him, and now he kept his own council.

Most of the time he was not really there, the drugs made him compliant, and the gin made him sleep. He could smell himself sometimes, the strong stench of sweat and cologne. He did not bathe as oft as he used to, he did not go out into the freshness of the air. He was like a demon caught in his own personal hell, and he would look often at his purse of gold and wonder why he did not go home.

During the nights they would wait in the parlour. There were Love seats and plush couches, drapes of silk and satin, and a fire blazing constantly in the hearth for heat. Jared always lay across one of the couches, limbs akimbo, bare and inviting. He knew what made men want, and he used his knowledge wisely. The innocent boy who was taught by a Lord was long dead, this _new man_ had long lost any modesty or purity, his identity something of an enigma.

He was light-headed with opium and thick strong gin, his head felt heavy on his neck and he smiled almost inanely at those men who looked him over. He let them touch him, and paw at his flesh with course fingers. They were inspecting the merchandise and, in some distant part of his mind, he appreciated this.

“Jared?” A man stood over him. He was slender, eyes blue and wild with shock. Hands pulled at his shoulders and he grunted at the intrusion. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here boy?”

He moved his head so that he could look at the man. He wasn’t a boy, not anymore and he resented that title. Fingers pushed into his skin and it hurt. He shoved, ineffectually, at the man’s shoulders wanting him gone.

The man vanished for a moment and he heard the distant hum of voices. He was relieved when the man did not return, happy to lay here on the couch and await someone who would want him. He did not know why the man was so concerned for him and he did not care. Tonight was just another night, and soon he would earn enough to fill his purse just that little bit more.

The King lazed indolently on his throne. He was dressed in his robes of state and he held his staff of office loosely in one hand. He had a meeting in parliament about a possible marriage and he did not look happy about it. Two weeks ago Lady Castlemaine had been delivered of a healthy daughter and the King had been proud, holding many parties and dances to celebrate such an event. Marriage would not curtail his _activities_ , but it would restrain him.

Jensen was just one of the lord and ladies he had asked to support him through this _difficult time_. He sat alone in one of the darker corners not really wanting to be involved. Like the King he was being married to someone he did not love but, unlike the King, he would not be able to free himself of her and he felt claustrophobic, and trapped.

He missed Jared like a severed limb. Jared had been a friend, a companion, and someone for whom he felt deep unwavering affection. He could not fool himself into thinking that was all. He had loved Jared, loved him with all his heart, but he had not been able to tell him thus and it was something he regretted deeply. Near three months had passed since Jared had vanished and Jensen was still no wiser as to where he had gone. A deep fear inside of him made him wonder if Jared was dead, if he had met his fate at the hands of thieves or vagabonds, if he had been left homeless and died somewhere on the city streets. He could only pray that this had not come to pass, but he did not know and this lack of knowledge was killing him.

Sebastian slunk into the room like the reptile he was. Jensen hated the very sight of the man, and he felt his fingers close unconsciously on his knife. Sebastian looked pale and the light in his eyes was dread, but he did not hesitate and walked over to Jensen and put his hand on the other man’s shoulder as if they were the best of friends.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, without preamble. “It is imperative.”

“You have nothing to say that I want to hear.” Jensen could feel anger well up in him sharp and almost painful in its intensity. “I am to marry that harridan soon and it is your fault.”

“You will want to hear this.” Sebastian bent closer. “It is about Jared.”

“Jared?” The name knocked the anger out of him almost instantly. “What do you know?” He gripped Sebastian hard by the bicep, fingers tight. “Is he . . . ?”

“He is not dead,” Sebastian said, softly. “But he may as well be.”

“I do not understand.”

“You should go to Matthew Cohen’s establishment on the edge of the city. There he runs a house of ill repute. You and I know it as a Molly House. Men go there to find themselves a certain kind of _woman_ if you get my meaning. As you know I myself am partial to such things, and two nights ago I found _your_ Jared there.”

“Sweet Jesus.” Jensen leaned heavily against the support of the wall, his heart was pounding and he felt sure he would vomit. “How . . . ?”

“I do not know, but you need to help him.” Sebastian flushed. “I blame myself for all of this, and I am very sorry for what I have done to both of you.”

“Take me there.” Jensen tugged hard at Sebastian’s arm. “Take me there now.”

“But, the King.”

“I care not.” Jensen shook his head. “I have to go to Jared, and damn the consequences.”

“Then make our excuses and we will go, but I do not think you will like what you find there.”

Jensen wondered what it would feel like to slit Sebastian’s throat, to hear him gurgle and choke in his own fetid blood. He thought it was fortunate for the other man that Jensen needed him because if he did not he would be lying dead at Jensen’s feet by now, and there would be no going back.

The house was located on the edge of the city near a fairly respectable coaching inn. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal inn with a white front and drapes across the windows. There was no sign of life when Jensen approached but he guessed it was too early in the day for the house to be open for business.

The door was locked and bolted but he pounded hard on it regardless. There was a long period of silence and then he pounded again. He heard the sound of feet pattering behind the thick oak of the door and then he heard locks and bolts being drawn back.

“We’re closed.” A man poked his face out of the door. It was dark inside and it was hard to see his expression, or whether he was young or old. “If you have an invitation you can come back after dark.”

“I don’t have an invitation but you need to let me in.” Jensen moved closer to the door, he had his hand on his sword, fingers gripped around the hilt. “I have come to see someone.”

“There is no one to see here, sir.” The man’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Not without an invitation”

“If you do not let me in then I will call the King’s guards here.” Jensen knew he was risking much. “They will not hesitate to arrest every person in this place.”

“Just who are you?”

“My name is Lord Ackles, and I have the ear of the King.” He swallowed in the knowledge that he was risking a lot just by being here.

“You’d better come in then.” The man opened the door wider and let Jensen inside. It was darker inside with the drapes closed, the scent of sweat, pomade and something sharper pervading the air. “What do you want here?” The man, who was younger than Jensen had first thought leaned in. “We are a respectable establishment, we don’t want no trouble.”

“I have come to find someone.” Jensen felt anger bite him. “He is important to me.”

“Indeed.” The man grinned then. “Then in that case, he is worth a great deal more to me.”

“I have money.” Jensen wanted to punch the man but he held back. “You need not concern yourself with loss of _income_.”

“Who is this man?”

“His name is Jared.”

“We don’t have names here,” the man sounded defensive, sly. “What does he look like?”

“Very tall, chestnut hair, hazel eyes,” Jensen’s throat closed on the words and his voice wavered frighteningly.

“Indeed. One of my best then. If you want him it’ll cost you a pretty penny.”

“Just take me to him.” Jensen’s gut was hot with bile. “Please.”

The man nodded and walked briskly down the dark corridor, Jensen followed him up rickety stairs into another long dark hall. There were red doors on either side and the man paused beside one of them.

“He’s in here,” he said.

Jensen pushed the door open and stepped inside. His heart was thundering and he had no concept of what he was about to find. His mouth was so dry he could barely breathe and there was already sweat gathering on his top lip.

The room was cold and dim, a slim taper gave off a thin beam of orange light that wavered over the bed. There was a figure lying there, sprawled half naked on the tumbled sheets arms and legs akimbo. As Jensen moved closer he could see that there was a table beside the bed with a bottle of gin tipped over onto its side. There was a strong stench of something sweet emanating from the man on the bed, and Jensen shuddered as he realised it was the stink of opiate. His legs almost gave way as he reached the bed for he barely recognised the person who slumbered there. Jared was so much thinner than he remembered, his collar bones standing out beneath is pale skin in stark relief. His stomach was flat and distended, his hipbones showing above his cotton undergarment. There were black smudges around his eyes and his mouth was smeared red like a woman’s. At first, Jensen thought his face was inhumanly pale but it was simply white with powder. Beauty spots decorated his cheeks and there was a necklace of simple pearls around his throat.

“Jared,” he was aware how desperate his voice sounded and he felt almost weighed down with guilt and grief. He could still remember the first day he saw Jared. He remembered how he stood so tall and broad against his mother’s side, dressed so plainly in his dark clothing, modest and innocent, a boy from a small town who had never even been to the city. “Jared can you hear me?”

Jared moaned and his eyes opened, his lids were half-mast and his gaze fuzzy and confused. A slow smile played upon his smeared lips and he reached up a long arm to wrap around Jensen’s neck, one hand already working on Jensen’s breeches, rubbing against his groin.

“I’ll be good for you sir,” he mumbled, voice slurred. “I’ll give you whatever you need. I’m a good little Molly, sir. So good.”

“Jared.” Jensen felt as if he would not be able to hold back his tears. He used all of his strength to haul Jared up to a sitting position and then he turned to the man who still hovered in the doorway. “I’m taking him out of here,” he barked. “You would be wise not to stop me.”

“Sir.” The man shook his head. “He is one of my best Mollies, I am going to lose a lot of coins.”

Jensen fumbled at the bag he was wearing on his belt. He drew the heavy object off and threw it at the man.

“Take it,” he hissed. “It is blood money for you. Do not ask for more, else you will find yourself with a sword at your throat.”

The man backed away and Jensen moved Jared forward. It was hard as the younger man could barely move let alone walk. He was mumbling the whole time, hands pawing at Jensen’s shoulders, his belt, and his hair. Jensen could not stand it. He knew that he was to blame for all of this, that he could not lay the blame at Danneel’s door. Jensen’s unnatural lusts, his determination to have what he wanted without question had led Jared to this state. He wanted nothing more than to turn back time, even if he had left Jared with his mother and turned them both out on the streets, the man before him would not have been brought so low.

Jared was too weak to take any further than the coaching inn. It was clean and respectable and the proprietor was a quiet man who seemed trustworthy. Jensen reserved a large suite and paid with gold so there were no questions asked. He managed to get Jared inside and onto the bed. Jared looked sick and debauched. His skin marked with bites and scratches, red smears on his face and neck. He was already trembling, shudders wracking his body, eyes wild and desperate. Jensen was no fool, he knew what was happening to Jared, and he knew that there would be no quick solution.

From that moment Jensen’s world narrowed to the small suite of rooms and the man on the bed. He dared not send for a physician knowing that, if he did, he would be putting Jared in terrible danger. Jared could be arrested, tortured, and killed for what he had been doing, and Jensen had not come this far to lose him like that. 

He paid handsomely for hot water and good food. He bathed Jared from head to toe trying to ignore how his skin burned, or how he tossed and turned as if he were in the greatest of agonies. Jared had no conception that he was there. In his more lucid moments he called for his mother, but most of the time he just moaned and wept, his words indistinct and mumbled. Without the powder and the ribbons in his hair Jared looked like the innocent boy he was. He was so young and so very vulnerable and, if not for Jensen, he would not be here so close to death.

Jensen barely noticed the passage of time. He ate when he was hungry and drank water when his thirst became too great. He only left Jared alone when he had to see to his own needs, and he slept with his head resting against Jared’s bed, his fingers tangled in Jared’s own. 

A week had gone, and Jensen knew that, by now, Danneel would be so angry she may tell the King everything. Jensen could no longer bring himself to care. No one but Sebastian knew where he was, and he felt sure that, this time, he would not betray Jensen’s confidence. Jensen was safe here and so was Jared. The suite of rooms had become home to both of them and, sometimes, he felt they would never leave.

Jensen opened his eyes. The room was bright with sunlight and Jensen knew that it must be well past dawn. For a moment he was unsure of what had woken him and then he realised that someone was stroking his hair; he lay still for a moment, his neck stiff from where he had been sleeping with his body on the chair and his head on the pillow next to Jared. For a moment he felt as if he were dreaming but the slow movement through his hair continued and he looked up to see Jared staring down at him.

There were tears on Jared’s cheeks and his gaze was wide and over bright. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent and there were shadows beneath his eyes. 

“Jensen?” He said, voice rough and worn, thick with unshed tears. 

“I’m here,” Jensen could barely get his own words out. “I’m here, Jared.”

“Do not leave me again.” It was a plea, but one that Jensen was desperate to heed. “Never leave me again.”

“I swear,” Jensen said and he reached for Jared’s hand and took it in his own, tangling their fingers together so tight that the other man would never be able to get free.

**Epilogue**

Jared sat beside the window staring out at the river. It was a bright day, the sun making diamonds of the ripples on the water, the sky blue and cloudless. He felt weak, his head heavy on his shoulders. It seemed like decades since Jensen took him from the Molly House but, in reality, it was only a few weeks. Now it was hard to remember what it had been like, his memory was fuzzy, pictures indistinct running through his brain. He had no conception of what was real and what he had fabricated. His one constant was Jensen.

Jensen sat by his side and told him, with honesty, what had happened. He explained about the Lady Danneel and her scheming, he constantly told Jared how sorry he was, how much he regretted choosing his own safety over their love. Jared did not care, hearing Jensen say, _‘I love you’_ was enough. 

He did not know what was going to happen now. Jensen had sent a carrier back to the court to collect his belongings and his money. He had spent hours at the cramped writing desk that their suite provided, and Jared did not know or indeed care to whom he might be writing. 

Jared found he thought of nothing, he still slept too much, and did not eat enough. He knew he should be concerned because it was certain that Danneel would tell the King everything she knew but he could not bring himself to care. He did not think about his mother either. He had no knowledge of what her fate may be, but it was if that life was gone forever. It was as if he had been a different person then, which in truth he had been, and now that man had ceased to exist.

Even now he could feel his eyelids grow heavy with sleep. He could feel his hands grow limp upon his thighs. His mouth was dust dry and his whole body ached. Perchance he would one day heal, but he felt as if that day was so far in the future he may never get there.

****

He could not take his eyes from Jared’s ravaged face. The man looked older than his years, pale, wan, and still sick. Jensen worried, how could he not? There were so many diseases associated with physical intimacy, and he feared that Jared’s condition was more than just weakness or withdrawal from the opiate. 

“Would you like some broth?” He moved closer and put his hand at the nape of Jared’s neck. The other man sighed and leaned into his touch.

“I do not feel hungry,” Jared sounded guilty. “But I will eat something.” The _for you_ was left unsaid.

“We need to make you strong again,” Jensen swallowed, pain making his throat tight. “To make you well.”

“I do feel better.” Jared smiled weakly. “I swear.”

“Jared,” he knew he should ask but his tongue would not work. The other man saw his expression and his hand shot out to grip Jensen’s wrist, hard and needy.

“I put my mouth on them and my hands, but there was no more intimacy than that,” Jared’s voice shook. “You are the only man I have had carnal knowledge of, the only person.” His eyes were bright again, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Oh Jared.” Jensen fell to his knees and buried his face in the younger man’s thigh. “If we live through this, will you ever be able to forgive me?”

“I forgave you the minute you took me from that place,” Jared said and Jensen could not hold back his own tears as he realised that they were going to be alright.

The docks were thriving with life. There were several ships already in the harbour and Jensen could see sailors on board scrubbing the decks and climbing the masts. He stood for a moment and then he approached one of the men on the dock hoping that he might get the answer he was seeking.

“Can you offer me safe passage to the New World?” He reached for the gold he had on his belt, there was still a little left and it would have to see them through, but this seemed the only real solution.

“Aye,” the man said and spat tobacco out onto the dockside and held out his hand for the gold. “I can do that for ye’ sir, but have a mind it is a new and primitive place.” He grinned showing broken teeth. “Not for the faint hearted.”

“It holds no fear for me,” Jensen said, honestly. “You can have faith in that.”

“We sail two days from now,” the man said. “You can tell ‘em Captain Morgan has given you carte blanche. The cabin ain’t a rich man’s dream, and the food is sparse but you’ll not be bothered here, and no one will ask you why you are fleeing.” He winked. “If you get my meaning.”

“Yes.” Jensen smiled for the first time in an age. “Thank you.”

Jensen wrote two letters; one was to Danneel telling her he had no intention of marrying her, and that she should seek out a new way of making her fortune. He sealed it quickly and without regret. The next letter he wrote would be far more painful.

Jared sat by his side, he looked better now, a fine flush of pink in his cheeks. They were not yet intimate again, but Jensen felt that it would not be long before they could love each other truly. They could not stay here in England, it was too dangerous and they would inevitability be caught in their sin. He was sure Danneel must have told the King everything by now and he hoped that the lack of guards knocking at their door meant that his old friend still felt compassion for them. 

The second letter was to the King, it explained how much Jensen loved Jared and, even though he knew that love was tinged with sin, he could not let it go. He told his majesty that he no longer wanted his title or the land he had been so generously gifted. He told him that he was leaving these shores forever and wished him the greatest of good fortune.

Two days later they set out for the docks with little more than the clothes they stood up in and what was left of Jensen’s gold. In the new world there was land aplenty, land for the taking and Jensen intended to build something there, a small farm perhaps where they could breed cattle and grow cotton. It might be a wild and impetuous dream but it was all they had, all they could aspire to.

Whatever the future held they would be together. They would always live in fear of discovery but it was a risk he was willing to take. Jared was willing to take it too. They loved each other and neither of them was prepared to call that love a sin.

The ship would take them far from here, far from things that were loved and familiar. Jensen had tasted exile before, and it held no dread for him. Jared had never even seen the sea before let alone set sail upon it, but he was looking healthier by the moment and he seemed to have regained his sense of adventure.

Neither of them knew what lay beyond the horizon but it was a new world and a new start. 

They would embrace it together.

End


End file.
